Limpieza de Sangre
by TheEndless7
Summary: Harry Potter always knew he'd have to fight in a Wizarding War, but he'd always thought it would be after school, and not after winning the Triwizard Tournament. Worse still, he never thought he'd understand both sides of the conflict. AU with a Female Voldemort.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no product. I did the beta work myself here as the concept did not interest my usual betas. Any mistakes are, annoyingly, my own.

Limpiezia de Sangre

Harry Potter was going to win the Trizwizard Tournament.

He almost couldn't believe it as he stared at the Triwizard cup. Earlier in the year he'd been convinced that this tournament was going to kill him, but now he was standing in a small circular cove in what he could only presume was the middle of the hedge maze. He looked around the alcove for a moment. There were three entrances, excluding the one he and Cedric had burst through. And they all seemed to be shifting every so often as the maze transformed around them.

Cedric Diggory lay against the pedestal, panting with exhaustion. He'd collapsed almost as soon as they'd made it into the small alcove that held the cup. Harry stared down at the older Hufflepuff, not feeling quite right about just grabbing the cup, as Diggory had beaten him, by a step, into the alcove. But he'd barely been able to stand at that point.

"Take the bloody cup already," Cedric coughed, his grey eyes staring up at Harry. His wand was still in his right hand. The older boy shifted against the pedestal but made no effort to rise.

"It doesn't feel right," Harry said, standing before it, examining it. "I wouldn't be standing here if you hadn't grabbed me. And you beat me into the alcove."

"Stop being a git, Harry," Cedric replied. And he coughed again, some blood coming up. "I can't even stand up. I have no idea what Krum did to me but it feels like I'm burning apart inside. Just take the cup so this is over."

"There has to be something I can do to help!" Harry said. He rushed to Cedric's side and leveled his wand on the other boy, trying to think of any restorative spell he could come up with. Cedric's expression changed from a passive calm to general fury.

"Just take the cup!" He yelled. He paused for a moment before barely managing to raise his wand toward the sky before sparks shot upward. Harry doubted that they cleared the top of the hedge-maze. But he suspected the spectators had some way of seeing them and that the gesture wasn't lost on the crowd. Cedric was taking himself out of the competition.

Harry stood. He understood the significance of the Hufflepuff's gesture. He didn't particularly agree with it. He'd never quite really thought about what it would mean to win the Triwizard Tournament. But he supposed that with Krum out, Fleur's pained scream from earlier in the task, and Cedric's forfeit; he just had by default. He made a face at the cup before he grabbed one handle casually.

The pull in his stomach was the first sign that it was more than it appeared. But he assumed it was just pulling him out of the maze, to somewhere else on the Hogwarts grounds. He fell over once he arrived, dropping the cup and his wand and looking around.

He was nearly one-hundred percent sure that Hogwarts didn't have a graveyard. But the castle always had managed to surprise him. Of course, he couldn't see the castle anywhere, which was impossible from the majority of the grounds. He moved to pick up his wand but something hit him and he froze. He couldn't do much more than shift his eyeballs around to try to survey the area. An unseen force lifted him and affixed him to one of the statues in the graveyard.

Harry struggled against the magic. He tried to fight it. But he was too tired from the third task to put up any real resistance. Moments later he saw a small blonde man skitter through the graveyard. A large snake followed him, a few paces behind, moving much more deliberately. At first, Harry suspected the snake was chasing the man. But when the man stopped and placed down a boiling cauldron and a small parcel Harry couldn't identify, the snake stopped as well, waiting a few feet behind him.

Harry recognized the man almost immediately. Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail, the very same man who had betrayed his parents to Lord Voldemort. Pettigrew stared at the snake for a moment before focusing on the cauldron. He unwrapped the parcel next to the cauldron and fidgeted with the contents. Harry saw it contained a tiny, almost ethereal creature, possibly no bigger than his hand. It didn't look human, but it certainly was more humanoid than anything else he could think of. A tiny hand clutched a silver tiara with a smattering of blue gemstones on the front. There was also a small white bone and a plain goblet.

Pettigrew grabbed the bone first and threw it into the boiling cauldron. It contained a thick, bubbling liquid Harry couldn't identify and it seemed to absorb the bone without anything changing. Pettigrew then drew a silver knife from his robes and, after taking one deep breath, cut off his own left hand so it fell into the cauldron below. Pettigrew then grabbed the goblet and ran with it and the knife both in his right hand over toward Harry.

He slashed the knife across Harry's wrist, sending a burning jolt of pain through Harry's arm. But the magic kept him bound in place, he couldn't even scream to attempt some relief. Wormtail dropped the knife to the ground below and held the goblet under the flowing blood. After a few moments he seemed satisfied and returned to the cauldron, adding the blood to the mixture. As soon as the thick, red liquid joined the contents, the cauldron stopped bubbling and became incredibly calm.

Pettigrew picked up the creature, which somehow managed to keep a grip on the silver tiara, and dropped it into the cauldron. As soon as the monster impacted on the liquid, Harry's head exploded.

He'd never felt quite as much pain from his lightning bolt scar before. It immediately overwhelmed the pain in his still bleeding wrist, and it was enough to blind him for a few moments. And once his vision returned he could still see spots. He felt like he should be gasping for air, but the spell on him barely let him breath as was. He was starting to feel a little bit faint and he concentrated on staying focused on everything that was going on around him in the graveyard.

His eyes turned to the cauldron, where Pettigrew had dropped the creature. It bubbled violently for a few moments, and then his greatest fear was realized. The Dark Lord that he'd stopped as a baby rose out of the cauldron, and she was naked. Harry couldn't help but stare. His mind raced. Lord Voldemort was a woman? Why had no one ever told him that detail? Granted, most people just referred to him, he paused and changed the pronoun in his head, referred to her, as 'You Know Who' or 'The One We Don't Speak Of' or something along those lines. He'd always just assumed, given the moniker of lord, that the Dark Lord was male.

He thought back to his first year at school, focusing his memories on the back of Professor Quirrell's head. Whatever had possessed his first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had looked completely androgynous. He couldn't give it any sort of gender, as it had been little more than eyes nose and mouth. And he did not remember the features readily enough to compare it to anything. All and all it had simply looked like an abomination.

And what of second year? The ghost from the diary that had controlled the basilisk had been male. But, Harry frowned at the memory. It had looked more like him than anything. Perhaps it just projected itself as an image from his mind, and not the actual Dark Lord.

But when he'd been faced with a dementor, the voice he'd heard had been distinctly male. Except, he thought wryly, he couldn't have heard that voice. Had he just created a voice for a Dark Lord? He'd only been one at the time, there was no way he actually remembered that evening. It was just a culmination created from his biggest fear. His biggest fear that was now, once again, completely alive.

She stepped daintily out of the iron bowl, planting her feet on the ground. She had dark hair that looked slightly lank as it fell to the middle of her back. In the pale moonlight graveyard Harry couldn't pick out a specific color for it.

Wormtail immediately offered her a wand from in his robes. She took it in a slow motion, as if she was getting used to having functional arms. She rolled her neck and shoulders and moved toward the parcel, then turned her gaze to Wormtail.

"Clothing," she ordered. The one single word stung Harry's scar as well. For a moment, he thought she felt it too, as her gaze shifted over to the statue he was bound against. But then she looked back at Womrtail as he produced another package from his robes, wincing as he tried to use two hands, only to realize the second wasn't there. She used magic to levitate it away from him and scoffed at the contents. Harry stared at the two of them. Voldemort was thin, and around the same height as Wormtail. Standing naked in the graveyard she did not look menacing.

"Mistress-," Wormtail started.

"Master," Voldemort snapped, and Wormtail took a step backward and promptly shut his mouth. This word did not send a new pain through Harry's scar. She shredded the clothing with a flick of the wand and started to transfigure pieces of it into more acceptable attire. Eventually she turned it into what Harry expected would have been a common cocktail dress in perhaps the late forties. It was entirely black had long sleeves and seemed to tie around her neck and the ruffled skirt fell to her ankles.

She transfigured another piece of the clothing she'd seemed unworthy from Wormtail into shoes. Boots, Harry figured, would be more accurate. They were short and black leather and had a buckle on one side and a slight heel to them. Harry's first thought was riding boots. She lifted one leg up and the boot slid onto her foot of its own volition. She repeated the process with the other one and then bounced lightly on her toes as if testing the spells that created the clothing.

"Master," Wormtail had worked up the courage to talk again. Voldemort paid next to no attention, a nearly imperceptible tilt of her head the only indications he heard him. "May I inquire what was wrong with the garments I brought, so as to better serve you next time?"

To Harry's surprise, Lord Voldemort laughed. She had a high, tinkling laugh that sounded joyous. The laugh caused her pale lips to curve into a smile and the affect wasn't displeasing in profile. He'd always pictured the Dark Lord as a hideous abomination. But the woman standing there was nothing but. She wouldn't win any contests for her looks, he thought. But she was far from a hag. She had what he could best describe as a classically proportioned face and her long dark hair that fell down her back and complimented her dark eyes.

She continued transfiguring clothing before she responded. She finished up by creating a long, black, hooded cloak that she deposited over one of the nearby gravestones rather than putting on.

"If you think I would let you dress me, Wormtail, you're a bigger fool than I thought. I would prefer to not look like a rat," her tone was completely impassive. She waved her wand at a gravestone which turned into a mirror. She looked in it for a moment before raising a hand to her hair. She grabbed a bunch of it in her hand and brought it to her face and sniffed once, before making a face and letting it down.

She pointed her wand at her own head and cast something Harry didn't recognize. She used nonverbal magic for every spell she'd used so far. After she finished the spell she brought her hair back to her nose. She made another disgusted face before dropping her hair once more. Moments later her hair seemed to braid itself into an intricate bun.

"My Lord," Wormtail said again, this time offering up his hobbled stump of a hand. Voldemort stared appraisingly at it, before turning back to the mirror, undoing the spell on the gravestone with a flick of her wrist.

"You made the potion too young," she said, ignoring the former marauder with her. "I'm not near my prime. I look barely older than twenty-five."

"I followed your instructions to the letter!" Wormtail argued, looking alarmed.

"I doubt that," Voldemort responded.

"Master, please," Wormtail begged once more, again holding up his stumped hand.

"What do you expect me to do with that?" She asked, sounding annoyed.

"You promised..." Wormtail said.

"That I would heal any injury you sustained yes. You; however, did not need to cut off your entire hand. Your smallest finger would have more than sufficed. I do not reward stupidity, Wormtail. You even removed part of your Mark. The summoning charm on it will not function now," She turned her attention away from him, her eyes lingering on Harry.

"Master," Womrtail begged. She flicked her wand at him, without turning her gaze to him, and stepped toward Harry. Harry watched as Wormtail flew backwards toward the gravestones, and he immediately smelled charred flesh. Voldemort had obviously thought the best way to fix Wormtail's wound had been to solder it shut. Peter Pettigrew shrieked in pain as he landed on the relatively soft ground.

The snake slithered over, putting its body between Voldemort and Wormtail. Voldemort didn't say anything to Harry, perhaps knowing that he couldn't respond because of the body bind.

Instead she reached up and brushed the back of one of her knuckles against his shin, which was bleeding from a cut he'd suffered in the maze that had ripped clean through his jeans. The contact caused his scar to throb, but it wasn't painful, merely uncomfortable, like a day-long headache pulsating directly beneath his scar. He noticed that the wound on his leg closed as she did.

"I can touch you," she said tonelessly and smiled at Harry. Her smile showed no teeth, merely the corners of her mouth pressed upward and displayed one dimple on her right cheek. It only lasted a few seconds before her face once again became passive. She let him down from the statue, standing him in front of her, and relaxed the body bind so he could move his head. His breathing immediately accelerated, making up for the lost oxygen.

"You," he gasped after a few moments. She ignored him, raising up the arm Wormtail had cut and examined it. She ran her thumb over the cut, holding her wand in the same hand as she did, and it closed.

"That imbecile would have let you bleed out," she scoffed. "Apparently I only warrant the incompetent Marauder." Harry clenched his teeth. He did not like that she knew his familial legacy.

"Don't you dare," he said. But she ignored him, instead leaning close to examine his scar. She was about his height, and her chest pressed against his as she examined him. He wanted desperately to run away from her. But that just caused him to breathe harder. And then he noticed the stench.

"Quiet," she said, as if his talking irritated her. Which he thought was odd, unless perhaps Wormtail's spell was weakening and she hadn't been the one to partially release him.

She smelled like rot. That was the best way he could describe it. It was something like a decaying dementor robe mixed with compost and a blast-ended skrewt. He gagged immediately.

"What is that," he gagged again, unable to help himself, the force of his cough fighting the magic that held him in place, causing him to shift against her. She placed a hand on his shoulder, gripping it too tightly in an attempt to force him to be still, sending a modicum of pain through his arm.

"Just be glad you didn't have to bathe in it. Or drink it," she said, almost flippantly. Part of him wanted to laugh. He'd heard people talk about Voldemort's charisma, but he never expected humor. She still seemed fascinated by his scar though, and he wondered if she was even paying attention to her own words. She leaned in close, as if to smell it, and almost brushed her lips over his forehead.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she stopped examining his scar. She ignored him, looking instead toward the huddled mass of Wormtail, crying softly, and the snake that seemed like it wanted to eat the man.

"We have a dilemma, Harry Potter," she said softly, twirling her wand through her fingers.

"Oh yeah?" Harry said, as defiantly as he could muster. Again, Lord Voldemort smiled at him, a simple twitch of her lips upward, showing her one dimple.

"Yes," She said. "You see I had planned on summoning the Death Eaters. Although I must admit I am curious as to how many would actually show up as they did not seem particularly interested in helping me after that Halloween. Either way, I was going to kill you in front of them. To prove that you are indeed no match for me. Overly dramatic, I know. But sometimes, Harry Potter, one must put on a show."

"Erm," Was all Harry could think of in response. He noticed she was pacing back and forth in front of him. But it wasn't an agitated pacing. Instead it was more like she was just enjoying the movement. Her skirt fluttered around her every time she changed directions.

"But Wormtail, in his infinite wisdom, mutilated his mark. Which will negate its power. So now when I kill you there will always be a tinge of doubt as to whether or not I did it myself. I am sure I could stifle their doubt without much effort. But I would have preferred to not resort to that. But it is of no consequence now," Lord Voldemort explained.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked and her dimple made another appearance. He was still struggling against the body bind and he would have sworn the spell was weakening, but he could not escape it.

"One must always be both willing and able to explain their actions, Harry Potter. Any action done without reason is done foolishly," she said, as if imparting great wisdom upon him. Her tone reminded him, almost sickeningly, of Professor McGonagall.

"So you can explain murdering my parents?" Harry spat. He hoped that if he kept her talking that the spell would break. He could see the Triwizard Cup not too far from him. He would be able to dive for it. If he could grab it, he knew, he could return to Hogwarts.

"We all make mistakes," she said tonelessly, turning away from him. She peered toward Wormtail. His simpering had stopped and Harry half suspected she was checking if he was alive. The snake slithered closer to him and poked him with its snout. He fidgeted agitatedly and the snake turned away, hissing quietly. But he barely noticed that thought as rage ran through Harry immediately. A mistake? She thought her actions were a mistake?

"A mistake!?" He yelled, his arms twitching against the magic that held him in place. He could feel the spell crumbling around him.

"Fainted," he heard as a whisper from near the snake. It barely registered to him that it was the snake that spoke. Voldemort nodded to the creature. At the same moment Harry felt the constraints of the spell fading away, he felt his muscles loosen, and he knew he was free.

"Yes," she said, turning back to face Harry. And her expression stopped him cold. Her lips were curved downward into a clearly practiced frown, and her dark eyes were alarmingly soft. And he got the distinct feeling that he had disappointed her. That she had expected more from him. That she assumed he would have been able to figure out this mistake himself, to work it out on his own. Deep down that thought disgusted him. But that wasn't where his mind immediately went.

Instead he wanted to figure it out. He wanted to prove that he could. To prove her wrong and get that look off of her face. He barely registered that he'd rather see the dimpled smile than the passive disappointment as his mind raced. It only took a few seconds. Of course she'd find it a mistake. It had killed her.

"Perhaps," she said after a moment of silence, pausing again to let the word linger. "Perhaps I can make it up to you."

"What, can you bring them back?" He scoffed. Her eyes twitched to her right hand, as if looking for something there. But then they rested back on him.

"Unfortunately I have not discovered a spell that can do that," she said, sounding actually disappointed. "But I have discovered far more magic than perhaps anyone alive."

"So?" Harry spat, again letting his annoyance bubble over. She gave no indication of annoyance at being interrupted.

"You are a talented and determined individual. The youngest Triwizard Champion is certainly an impressive accomplishment. There is plenty I would be able to teach you. Together we could accomplish much," she spoke slowly, keeping her eyes locked on him as she did. Harry was almost ashamed to admit that he considered the offer. It would not only keep him alive, but perhaps it would allow him to be able to find a way to kill her. But he knew he would never agree to it. And he did not think the offer was completely genuine.

"I would rather die than be branded a Death Eater," he said defiantly and that part was fully truthful. Again, she smiled, her eyes lighting up, almost admiringly.

"Such spirit. But you misunderstand my offer, Mister Potter. Death Eaters are minions. They're little more than tools. While I do think I am going to need to bolster their ranks at some point, I am far more interested in taking you on as a protégé. No branding involved," she explained calmly. As if to prove a point she tucked her wand into her bun above her left ear and held up her hands. She tugged each sleeve down a few inches and revealed the pale, unmarked, skin there. Moments later she reached for her wand again.

"I would never join you," Harry said. His brain screamed at him for not cursing her when she momentarily disarmed herself. But her actions somehow fascinated him. He wanted to just keep watching her. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized that so far, the only spell she'd cast on him herself, had been to heal his injuries.

"I think, Harry Potter, that you have already found some aspects of your education too easy. Do you find yourself bored in your classes, wondering what more magic can show you? I can help you discover powers you never dreamed of," she continued. Truth stung from her words. He did find some aspects of his classes tedious. Especially in Defense. Nothing had ever come hard. He'd often wondered why they weren't taught more complicated magic to use to defend themselves, or taught more about what they were defending from. But he did not allow himself to dwell on that.

"Never," Harry reaffirmed. Lord Voldemort just shrugged her shoulders.

"I suspected as much," she said, letting out an annoyed sigh as she leveled her wand on him. "Such a waste, young Harry Potter, of magical blood and talent. So be it. Avada Kedavra."

"Expelliarmus," Harry yelled, raising his wand as she cast her spell. And the two spells collided between them. Voldemort looked shocked by the development, her brows arching upwards. She pushed more magic into the spell, hoping to overpower the younger wizard.

But she didn't. No additional forced seemed to have any affect. After a moment she stopped trying to make her own spell stronger and simply observed, doing her best to not break the connection between them. She'd never experienced something like this. She'd never even heard of something like this. Everything she'd understood was that the stronger spell should rip right through the weaker one. And there were very few spells stronger than the killing curse.

She could see shades rising out of the tip of his wand, but she could not make out their forms aside from the fact that they were humanoid. They appeared to be talking to him. But she could not hear what they said.

Moments later the spirits turned toward her. They hesitated for just a moment before charging at her. She had to break the connection that had formed between their wands to slash at the spirits. She recognized them readily enough. The old caretaker of her father's estate where she'd hid these last few months. The ministry official Wormtail had abducted to, for lack of a better term, get some relief over the summer, and Lilly and James Potter. Each shade disappeared as soon as she cast a spell on it, vanishing in a puff of harmless smoke.

Once the smoke had gone, she noticed that Harry Potter, and the Triwizard cup, were gone. She cursed under her breath and looked around the graveyard. Her snake, Nagini, was still sniffing at Wormtail's unconscious form.

She pressed her lips together and looked back at where the Triwizard Cup had rested. That had been a careless mistake, to leave it lying around. She should have immediately destroyed it upon regaining a corporeal form. But she'd let amusement cloud her judgement. She blasted the ground where it had so recently been, but that didn't improve her mood.

She turned on her heel and walked over toward Wormtail's body. He was clutching the burned stump that until recently had been his left hand. But other than that he appeared to be in good enough condition to move.

Lord Voldemort pointed her wand at his head, figuring there was no reason that he needed to remember her failure, if he even caught most of it. She wiped his memories of the time in the Graveyard completely, and replaced them with a more muddled version. Here, he had lost control of the Body Bind almost as soon as he'd gained Harry Potter's blood, and the boy escaped during the distraction of her revival.

Once she was satisfied with the mind-magic she lowered her wand. Her transfigured dress had no pockets, so she took a moment to tuck it back behind her ear. Nagini circled protectively around her as she looked down toward the plump man.

She grabbed her wand and summoned the cloak she'd created earlier. She caught it with one hand, tucking her wand away with her other and wrapped it around her shoulders, it fell down nearly to the ground. She pulled the hood up over her head and turned her attention back to the former marauder.

"Wake up, Wormtail," she snapped. The man didn't move. Nagini hissed something like disapproval, muttering about how the man was useless, but she wasn't really interested in the snake's opinion at that moment, even if she agreed with it. She knew she couldn't leave him there. Ministry officials or Dumbledore, would show up as soon as the boy told them what happened. And she knew he would tell them everything.

So instead she kicked him. Well, at first she prodded him with her foot, twice. When that wasn't effective she planted her boot firmly in his stomach. She supposed she could have used magic to revive him. But that seemed like such a waste. And her frustrations were better channeled through her boot than her wand. She'd have probably wound up killing him had she resorted to magic.

Of course, the man may have already outlived his usefulness. But only time would tell there and it didn't seem prudent to kill her followers when at the moment she could only reasonably count on two of them.

"Oof," he gasped for air.

"Get up," she barked.

"Yes mistress," he said.

"Master!" she yelled. She reached up for her wand, intending to Crucio the command into him. But then she remembered she'd just erased his memory of the command and lowered her hand.

"Yes master," he cried immediately. "I am sorry master. I did not think to better secure the boy I..."

"Shut up, Wormtail," she responded quietly. "We well just have to rectify your mistakes as we go. Gather our things." She lowered herself next to the cauldron she'd emerged from as Wormtail started to gather up what few belongings were in the area. She picked up a burnt tiara and frowned at it, hating that she'd been required to destroy such a valuable relic. She stood and handed it to Wormtail.

Her servant seemed surprised, she'd never let him touch it before. He cradled it in his hand for a moment before dropping it into his napsack. She'd wondered if he'd keep it. If he'd figure out what it was. Wormtail didn't strike her as that intelligent. And she doubted it could increase his intelligence anymore.

"Just vanish the cauldron," she said. "It is useless to us now. Come," and she started walking east as she heard him vanish the large iron cauldron.

"Where are we going?" Wormtail asked. She saw no reason to not tell him. He'd need to know the destination to apparate there anyway. As she would certainly not be touching him to take him along.

"We are going to walk five miles east so the ministry will not be able to trace our apparation when we leave here unless they thoroughly scour the area. Either way we will apparate to London and then take the floo from the Leaky Cauldron to Wiltshire," she explained calmly. Had she been going herself she would have forgone the London pit stop, but she did not know if Pettigrew had ever been to Wiltshire.

"Should you be seen in Diagon Alley?" he asked.

"It's late and we will not be long. Anyway it has been a very long time since I looked like this. I doubt I will be recognized. She then hissed at the snake, ordering it to stay and observe. She'd have to come back for it in a day or two, but she knew Nagini would be fine on her own. The snake stopped following Wormtail and slithered into an overgrown area on the edge of the Graveyard, patiently waiting and observing. Voldemort doubted anyone would even take notice of the animal. She'd used snakes as spies before and none of her targets had ever caught on.

"Do you have a hideout in Wiltshire, master?" he asked.

"No. We will deal with another miscreant there and, with any luck, be able to see just where we stand," she paused as if making a decision. "Wiltshire I think will work for what I must accomplish now." Wormtail nodded his understanding as they walked. But he did not ask any more questions, already feeling lucky that she even shared a moderate portion of her plan with him.

She set a brisk pace through the terrain, avoiding any signs of habitation, figuring the more deserted looking the area, the less likely the Ministry would be to check it. So she trudged away from civilization for about an hour. Wormtail struggled to keep up.

Eventually she felt she was far enough away to not be traced. She hadn't heard any commotion behind them, or any sounds of arrivals. So at one point she just apparated away, trusting Wormtail to follow.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I appreciate it.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Chapter 2

Harry hadn't thought about the landing. He realized that was a mistake about the same time he smashed face first into the damp earth of the quidditch pitch. The hedge maze was gone. Harry couldn't help at marvel at how quickly they'd gotten rid of that. Perhaps they'd done so to be able to find him better when, or if, he returned.

The cup clanked away from him and Harry could almost feel its magic leave. He suspected it had flown for the last time. Harry wondered why it had possessed enough magical power to return to the school. Perhaps Lord Voldemort had intended to return to the school after. Or perhaps it had simply been a mistake in enchanting it. He hadn't thought Portkey's were supposed to be able to return. But he knew very little about magical transportation that wasn't a broomstick.

And, as it was common knowledge Dumbledore was the only one that the Dark Lord feared. Why would she seek out conflict with him so soon after being revived? Did she value the element of surprise that much?

He reached for the cup, pulling it back to him and holding onto one of the handles. He didn't really know why he decided to do that. But it seemed like he should hang onto it. A thought occurred to him almost as soon as he touched it again. Someone had enchanted it to take him to that graveyard. And that someone had to have been in the castle. Or at least had access to the cup.

His initial thought was Pettigrew. But somehow, that just didn't fit. The creature Pettigrew had been caring for had obviously needed quite a bit of attention. And he doubted that Pettigrew left it alone for very long at any given time.

So someone else had enchanted it. Someone who wanted to make sure that Harry wound up in that graveyard. That wanted to ensure that Lord Voldemort could use his blood to regenerate herself. And that someone else was still at Hogwarts.

But what did that say about his tournament performance? He certainly hadn't received help during the tasks. Had Lord Voldemort really cared that it was him? Had she rigged the entire thing? Or had he won on his own merit? Did he really want to know the answer to that question?

Then again, he was the one who completed the tasks. He'd flown his broom around a dragon, he'd pulled his, and Fleur's, hostages up from the bottom of the lake, and he'd found his way to the center of the maze. An idea, here or there, put into his head, didn't seem like anything that would constitute not completing the tasks himself.

Harry pulled himself up to his feet, still holding onto the Triwizard Cup with one hand and looked around and that's when he realized that the crowd was cheering around him. He wondered just how long he was gone for. But really, he realized, it couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes.

Professors Moody descended on him immediately.

"Potter!" he said gruffly, his fake leg clanking as he moved, and his fake, electric blue eye shooting in all directions.

"Professor Moody," Harry responded, looking toward the older man. He only spared the defense professor a moment of thought though, as he looked around for others. Eventually his eyes spotted his head of house, Minerva McGonagall, far off in the stands. She seemed to be arguing with the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and didn't notice that Harry had returned.

"Come with me, Potter," Moody said. He grabbed Harry's arm hard enough that it hurt, and started pulling him away from the quidditch pitch. Harry followed just because no other choice seemed readily apparent.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"Away from the public," Moody responded. He seemed a little annoyed at being questioned. He started to move faster, moving toward the castle. Harry shook himself loose from the defense professor.

Moody paused and turned to look at him. But as Harry kept following him, he didn't deem it prudent to ask. Harry tucked his wand into his pocket and kept a firm grip on the Triwizard Cup.

"How's Cedric?" Harry asked, remembering how beat up his fellow Hogwarts champion had looked.

"He's in the hospital wing," Moody said. "Dumbeldore and Pomfrey are working on him."

"What happened to him?" Harry asked as they approached the doors of the castle.

"Krum hit him with a very dark jinx. But no matter Potter, Dumbledore and Pomfrey are working on him," Moody repeated. "Along with Claire Greengrass and Miriam Strout. They were in the stands for the task as well. They are also lending a hand. He's in good hands."

"Who are they?" Harry asked, unfamiliar with the names.

"Healers from St. Mungo's hospital," Moody said roughly. The news was reassuring, he immediately felt less concerned about Cedric's condition, knowing that four trained wizards should be able to rectify anything that could have been done to him.

"And Krum cursed him?" Harry asked.

"It looks that way," Moody confirmed.

"Should we help?" Harry asked, they'd stepped into the entrance of the castle. Harry turned his way toward the hospital wing. Moody grabbed him, hard, by the arm and pulled him off toward his office.

"We will just be in the way, Potter," Moody said, pulling them into his office. He practically threw Harry into his office, before shoving him into a chair by the large desk in the back of the room. The professor pushed past him and moved into the back corner. He took poured something into his flask which he then took a very large drink from.

Moody sat himself at his desk. He placed his wand on the desk, pointed toward Harry, and turned his gaze to him.

"Where did you go?" Moody asked, his voice gruff, his tone annoyed.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. It was the first thing that came into his head.

"Describe it!" Moody spat. Harry nearly jumped away from him, his mind spinning for any details he could think of.

"It was a graveyard," he said quickly. "There was a large manor house nearby. Other than that I don't know anything!"

"What happened?" Moody asked. He leaned forward in his chair, looking rather curious. Harry just stared at him for a moment. He didn't know if he should share the details of his experiences. But he knew Dumbledore trusted Moody. And that seemed like good enough for the time being.

"Peter Pettigrew stunned me. He then used my blood to finish some sort of potion. And he put something in it. And, well, Lord Voldemort emerged from it," Harry explained as calmly as he could. Moody flinched away from the name, his eyes flashing down toward his wand.

"And how was she?" he asked gruffly.

"What?" Harry asked, convinced he hadn't heard Moody correctly.

"How was she?" Moody barked, his tone so surprisingly forceful Harry almost instinctively jumped up. But Moody pushed him back into the chair.

"I don't know," he said quickly "Naked?" He blushed at the thought, wondering why his mind had gone there immediately. Moody's electric blue eye darted around the room, pausing for a few seconds on each of the dark detectors he had littering the office.

"How was she!" he yelled once more. Harry forced himself as far away from Moody as he could get while not rising from the chair. He'd never expected the defense teacher to act quite like how he was.

"I don't know!" Harry said again, more defensively. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor looked like he wanted to hit Harry. But after a moment he seemed to calm down.

"Tell me exactly what happened," Moody said, his voice softening.

"Well, I arrived in some graveyard and I was immediately stunned," Harry said. Moody interrupted him almost immediately.

"You said that bit already. Tell me what happened after she stepped out of the cauldron," Moody asked.

"Well she took a wand from Wormtail and then took some clothing and transfigured it into a dress and put it on. And then made some boots and a cloak and turned a gravestone into a mirror to examine herself," Harry said, finding recounting this rather odd.

"And was she pleased?" Moody asked, seeming almost eager for the answer.

"No," Harry said, remembering Voldemort's annoyance when she saw herself.

"What do you mean, no?" Moody sounded affronted.

"She scolded Wormtail for the potion he used. She said she wasn't near her prime. She seemed to think he'd screwed it up. And she didn't seem very eager to fix his wounds after that. She did, but by burning them closed."

"Poor fool," Moody said. "But he followed the instructions he was given. It was I that altered them. What woman does not want to be younger?" Harry blinked at hearing Moody say this.

"What?" he said without thinking, trying to force himself away from Moody as much as he could in the small office.

"Younger, Potter. She should be happy being returned to twenty-three. If you're going to come back from the dead you, taking a few years off should be welcome," Moody said, stepping closer to Harry.

"Anyway," Harry said, continuing to recount his story, realizing that Moody was not his friend. But he knew if he made for his wand, he wouldn't be fast enough to stun the Auror. He knew he had to stall for time, or for anything. He did his best to act like he hadn't picked up that Moody had altered the potion. "After that she, well, she touched me. Something she couldn't do when she possessed Quirrell. And then whatever spell was holding me in place wore off."

"Wormtail probably passed out," Moody said. He was staring intently at Harry, both of his eyes focused on him. It was unnerving.

"That's what I assumed. Anyway, after that she well, challenged me to a duel," Harry admitted. He didn't want to recount his conversation with Lord Voldemort. He felt like if he did that, he'd end up admitting that her offer intrigued him more than it should. So shoved the memory back into his mind and thought further ahead.

"And then what?" Moody asked, gruffly. Harry could sense the man was growing impatient. But he didn't know how to continue. He didn't want to talk about what he saw while they fought. So he paused, trying to come up with a sufficient enough lie in his head.

"I don't really know. She tried to hit me with a killing curse. But my disarming spell reflected it I guess? And then. I don't really know professor. It all happened so fast. And then I saw the Portkey and dove toward it and wound up back here," Harry explained. Moody nodded and Harry was glad his explanation seemed passable.

"So you were lucky," Moody said.

"I guess," Harry responded. But he wasn't sure. She could have killed him at any moment after she regained her body. And she hadn't. She'd talked to him instead. But, then again, she did try to kill him. And he decided he wanted to change the subject.

"But how's Cedric?" Harry asked. He knew he'd already asked. And he knew there was no way that Moody had any more information.

"Dumbledore will take care of him," Moody said, his tone indicating he didn't care particularly one way or another about the outcome. His tone bothered Harry. And then a moment later, he realized that he really disliked being alone in the office with Moody. He wanted to help. And he wasn't going to get to help stuck here. He moved to try to exit the room, but Moody blocked him. Harry tried to duck around him again, but the professor wouldn't let him buy. And then everything clicked as he looked at Moody once more. He knew he couldn't pretend to ignore it anymore. Moody wasn't letting him go and he needed to help.

"You," Harry said, and suddenly everything made sense to him. And he couldn't help but be furious that it hadn't occurred to him sooner.

"Yes, Potter," Moody said, drawing his wand.

"Why?" Harry asked, fumbling for his own, his hands shaking. He realized he felt more afraid there, in that office, than he had while in the Graveyard.

"Because my mistress commanded it," Moody said. He raised his wand on Harry. Harry knew he wouldn't get his up to defend himself fast enough. But Moody's words stuck in his head and he managed to respond, calmly.

"Your master," Harry responded harshly, trying to adapt the same tone he'd heard Voldemort use.

"What did you say?" Moody asked.

"She prefers master, does she not?" Harry scolded Moody. The man started back from him, but held his wand on him.

"Fine," Moody scowled. "I will finish what my master started. I will be her loyal, faithful servant, and she will reward me."

"If she wanted you to kill me, she would have ordered it," Harry said. And thankfully, Moody hesitated. The professor stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. But he wasn't dissuaded.

"She needed you to get her body back. She does not need you now. There's no reason to keep you alive. Nice try Potter. Avada-" but as he spoke, Harry heard a blast from the doorway behind Moody. The professor spun around, finishing the spell as he did. The green jet of light smashed into a wall, leaving a scorched mark on the stone. Harry ducked around Moody, figuring the door was his best bet. He barely registered that he rushed straight past Professor Snape as he did.

But he only made it a few steps down the hallway before he realized he should help. He needed to help. He spun back around, seeing flashes of light from the office. He ran back into the room just in time to see Snape hit Moody with a stunning spell. Except it wasn't Moody. The man was younger, with dark hair. He still had the magical eye in, but it clearly wasn't his defense professor.

Harry recognized the man immediately, purely because months before he'd seen the man inside of one Dumbledore's memories. Barty Crouch Junior lay on the stone floor. Snape restrained him with a flick of his wand. He looked nonplused by the entire incident. After he was sure the bindings were secure, the Potions Master turned to look at Harry.

"Are you okay, Potter?" he snapped, no trace of sympathy in his voice.

"I think so," Harry said, cautiously.

"Who healed you?" he asked. Harry wondered how the Potions Master knew he'd been healed. Snape answered his thought though, as if he was reading his mind. "Your wounds were more severe when you grabbed the cup."

"Lord Voldemort did," Harry said. Snape immediately stopped examining Crouch and turned to him.

"The Dark Lord healed you?" Snape sounded affronted.

"Yes, why?" Harry asked.

"What did you agree to? What did she say?" Snape asked quickly.

"Nothing," Harry responded, sounding as affronted as he could.

"The Dark Lord does not just dish out favors Potter. She wants you dead! Why would she heal you!" Snape stepped closer to him. The professor's eyes locked onto his own and Harry had the immediate urge to look away.

"I don't know! Ask her!" Harry waved his arms upward, doing anything he could think of to express disbelief.

"So she's returned?" Snape looked more alarmed than Moody, well Crouch now, had. He looked toward his left wrist but his sleeve covered it completely.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Tell me what happened," Snape ordered.

"Where's Dumbledore," Harry sighed. Exhaustion hit him almost instantly. He didn't know how long the task took, or really how long he was gone for, but everything seemed to be catching up to him in a hurry. "I don't want to repeat this story a hundred times tonight."

"The hospital wing," Snape said. And to Harry's surprise the potions master seemed to appraise him for a moment and then spoke with what seemed like kindness. "Can you walk there under your own power?"

"I think so," Harry nodded. He figured it was best to not mention how tired he was.

"Come with me then," Snape said, levitating Crouch's body much like Harry had seen Sirius do to Snape just last year.

"Yes professor," Harry responded quickly. He started off toward the hospital wing, walking a few steps in front of Snape as he did. The potions master kept his gaze on the Death Eater as they walked.

Harry entered the hospital moments later, finding himself more winded than he thought he probably should have been. He noticed Pomfrey and Dumbledore huddled over one of the beds, working with two others Harry didn't recognize.

Harry sat on a bed near the entrance, purely because he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to stand. He sat in silence and pondered the night as Snape moved over next to Dumbledore. Moments later the headmaster noticed the potions master and they both moved to Crouch. Harry noticed that Dumbledore gave one last forlorn glance to Cedric before turning his fury over toward the Death Eater.

The rest happened so quickly Harry barely recalled what happened after. He vaguely remembered Dumbledore and Snape questioning Crouch. He was sure Snape forced him to take a truth potion before they started their volley of questions.

But Harry didn't remember the specifics of the questioning. He barely remembered Pomfrey coming over and checking over his injuries. He remembered trying to eavesdrop on Snape and Dumbledore, but not being able to hear much. He remembered Dumbledore sending Snape away on some sort of mission.

After that, he remembered hearing something about a Dementor's Kiss. It must have been later, as the hospital was suddenly dark and he was lying in bed. He remembered Pomfrey arguing that others should leave, and not disturb her patients.

And then he woke up, the next afternoon, surrounded by friends. And then, as he left the hospital, telling them of the events of the night before. Everything seemed to be in a bit of a haze then. He remembered Ron asking if Voldemort was hot. Hermione scolded him, but Harry appreciated his friend's comment. He was just trying to lighten the mood, to make it seem like less of a darkness clouding them. It didn't work, but sometimes, it was the effort that counted.

Harry didn't have the heart to tell Hermione that he actually preferred it to her constant chiding, or how she'd read every article in the paper aloud, claiming she was looking for information on Voldemort's return, aghast that no one believed him, and that the paper wasn't abuzz with stories of the Dark Lord.

Somehow, it didn't surprise Harry, though. He did his best to tune out Hermione, knowing that snapping at her would just make matters worse. Like Ron's jokes, he knew she was just trying to be helpful, and again, it was just the effort that counted.

He knew he became more distant with both of them. And he knew that just caused them to try to engage him even more. But he more often than not just found himself lost in thought and oblivious to whatever they were conversing about.

But he had plenty to think about. He reflected on his last classes and exams, he reflected on the tournament, he reflected on the graveyard. His scar hadn't hurt since Voldemort had touched him, but instead throbbed on occasion, often out of nowhere, just for a second or two. He'd get a flash of something, here or there, sometimes an image, other times a feeling. He had no idea exactly what those were, but he he didn't dare mention it to anyone for fear of them finding him crazy. Still, somehow, he knew those feelings were not his own.

Regardless, the last days of term passed. Cedric Diggory's condition did not improve. Harry tried to visit the Hufflepuff twice, but both times was told by Pomfrey that he had to leave. News of Diggory's condition as of the end of the Tournament had dominated the papers. Krum left the school almost immediately, sick of answering questions about what happened. And the constant theme was that the Tournament had taken another life.

Harry hoped that wouldn't be the case. But he knew that until there was any specific confirmation otherwise, everyone would assume the worst.

He found him boarding the Hogwarts express, still hearing whispers about the end of the tournament and Cedric, who still hadn't left the hospital. He ignored the whispering though, and found a compartment with his friends, choosing instead to just press his forehead to the glass window and attempt to doze off during the train ride back to London.

Lord Voldemort moved quickly toward the manor home in Wiltshire. She walked swiftly up the pristine drive, approaching the wrought iron gates. She absently twirled her wand between her fingers as she moved, doing her best to try to ignore how slow her companion was moving behind her.

"Keep up, Wormtail," she growled.

"Yes master," he said, his footsteps quickening behind her. She spun her wand around in her hand and pointed it at the iron gates. They didn't budge. She paused and tried again, staring at the gates.

"Changed the locking spell," she muttered, frowning.

"Are we stuck?" Wormtail asked. Voldemort just laughed.

"Hardly," she responded, she slashed her wand across the iron gates. The gates burst open and she walked through them, turning to reaffix them once Wormtail had crossed the threshold as well.

"Master, won't there be other-" Wormtail started. Voldemort waived a hand to silence him.

"Probably," she said. "But so what if they know someone is here. It's not like either will attack me." She continued walking toward the house. Wormtail stared after her for a moment. He was stationary for a few moments, before he sped up after her, not wanting to be chastised for moving too slowly again.

The pair approached the front door of the manor. Voldemort waved her wand once more and the heavy oaken front doors opened. She stepped into the house and looked around the foyer.

"No one is home my Lord," Wormtail said as they peered around the foyer.

"It appears that way," Voldemort said quietly. She gazed around the ornate foyer. Everything appeared to have some sort of gold leaf embossing it. She waved her wand to light the foyer, before making a face at the white marble and gold leaf. Wormtail did not seem to notice her disgust.

"What should we do?" he asked, gazing around as if in awe of the décor.

"They will return, and when they do, you will be ready for them. Find the floo, although judging from the magic in the air, I would suspect they tend to apparate into the foyer. They should recognize you. And their marks should have returned. If they are not accommodating, lock them in the cellar. It is supposedly inescapable," Voldemort ordered.

"Yes master," Wormtail said, sulking into the corner of the room. Voldemort watched him, and had to admit, he was rather adept at blending into his surroundings. She continued to twirl her wand through her fingers and walked up the stairs.

There was very little on the second floor of the manor, just bedrooms and bathrooms and a closet or two. All of the bedrooms save one looked like they would have been better suited in a hotel. She wondered if they often had guests, or if it was just a matter of furnishing the rooms so the elves had upkeep to perform.

She entered the one room that was decorated differently. A gold and brown bedspread dominated one corner of the room. The bed was pressed into the corner, near the windows. She paused to look out, it was too dark to see much, other than a couple of peacocks wandering around the yard behind the manor. A desk and chair were pressed against another wall. Some books lined the shelf above the desk, standard spell books. Bottles of ink were lined above some loose parchment.

A Slytherin banner was pinned to one wall, along with a team photo of the Ballycastle Bats on another. The closets were filled with expensive looking robes and men's clothing.

She paced over to the desk and gazed down at the parchment. There wasn't anything written on it. She opened the top drawer and found nothing save ink and a wax stamp. The middle drawer held a silver knife and a torn page of the Daily Prophet. She examined the knife first. It was more ceremonial than functional. She pressed the blade against the desk and it bent with little effort. She rolled her eyes and put it back into the drawer, pulling out the parchment.

It appeared to be the photo from above the fold only a daily issue of the Prophet. More curiously, though, was that it was of Harry Potter. It had to have been the headline from the second task. He was sitting on a dock, next to Ron Weasley, who'd grown even more than Harry since she'd last seen them three years previously. Harry was holding a very young blonde girl and looking rather confused. It took her a moment to remember that Crouch had mentioned he'd almost drowned saving another champion's hostage.

She found the photo suitable curious, though, and folded it in half twice, before tucking it into her pocket. She'd remembered their son seeming distasteful. And nothing about his bedroom gave her any different indication. The room seemed too sterile to be something that someone cared about or treated as their own.

Voldemort stepped from the room and proceeded up to the third floor. She paced the master bedroom for a moment as well, finding it quite similar to the bedrooms below. Nothing in it gave any character to the residents, save a bedside photo of a bride and groom.

Neither looked happy in the photo, despite the smiling faces. They both seemed more obligated than anything else. She stared at it for a moment, her left hand clenching involuntarily into a fist. She could feel a veil around her, just for a moment, recalling soft cloth and obscured vision.

But she shook that from her head and left the room.

She descended back to the second floor and picked a guest room at random. She ignored the bed, although her body yearned for sleep. No, she realized, her mind yearned for sleep. Her body had only been awake, or even existed, for mere hours. But her mind, her mind had been awake for over a decade. Even when she was infesting Quirrell, she'd stayed awake while he slumbered. And now, given that she could sleep, her mind wanted to. She stifled a yawn and walked into the attached bathroom.

She turned on the lights and the shower with a flick of her wand before setting it on to the counter. She sat to take off the boots and then stood to shrug off her dress. She let her hair down, smelling it once more. She was still nearly unbearably rancid. She knew she would have to rectify that.

She stepped into the shower and allowed herself thirty seconds of enjoyment. Counting them off in her head and chewing on her lip as she approached the dreaded final number. But once they had passed she found shampoo, a distastefully sterile lavender scent, and used the entire bottle to clean her hair. After, she scrubbed the scent and grime of the potion from her body.

The thought gave her pause though. She smiled, almost unwillingly, at the realization that she had a body once more. She touched it carefully in the water, examining herself with her hands, gazing down at her pale skin. When all she could smell was the scent of the soap, she stepped from the shower.

Voldemort examined herself in the mirror. Her dark hair clung wetly to her, her dark eyes looked almost unfocused. She raised her arms, touched her arms, her neck, her shoulders as she stared at herself. She examined her stomach, her legs, her hands, she looked down at her feet.

She was missing scars. She noticed that almost immediately. Her skin was too pristine to have been her body at twenty-five, as she'd thought when she stepped from the cauldron. Unless the potion had created a brand new body for her.

But, she frowned, it wasn't supposed to do that. IT was a copy of her body at a certain age. She'd wanted to be older, assuming she'd have more power, and be more familiar to her followers. Now she looked too young. Some may not even recognize her. That could both be a boon and a curse, she realized.

But would she be weaker? She wondered. She was stronger, magically, at fifty than she had been at twenty-five. She could remember everything, though, all the spells, all the rituals, all the curses. It was all there in her head. She shook her head, content in the knowledge that she at least knew the magic, even if this body had never performed the magic.

She picked her wand off of the counter, and dried herself with one single flick. She smiled to herself as the magic flowed through her. She could still perform it readily enough. The rest, she knew, would come with time.

She flicked her wand to open the bathroom door, before summoning the bedspread and sheets to her. She transfigured it into underwear, stockings, and a new black riding dress. She reused the riding boots though, she was happy enough with those.

A commotion from the first floor drew her out of her momentary reprieve. She left the room and walked down the stairs once more. To her surprise, Wormtial had incapacitated a man, and was parrying spells from a woman. She appraised the situation for a moment before intervening.

"Narcissa," she barked. "Enough." The effect was immediate. Narcissa Malfoy dropped her wand and stood completely straight and still. She turned and faced Voldemort, fear in her eyes, but then just blinked.

"Who are you?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, turning her wand on Voldemort.

"Exactly whom you suspect," Voldemort said, stepping onto the ground floor and walking up to the Malfoy matriarch. "Just younger."

"You died," Lucius said from the corner, he was crawling back to his feet. Narcissa kept her wand leveled on Voldemort.

"And came back," Voldemort said. "Check your wrists. Surely you felt it burn. Surely you've noticed it sinking back into your skin." Neither Malfoy made a move to check their skin, but they exchanged a look that told Voldemort they'd both noticed.

"Impossible," Narcissa said.

"Obviously not," Voldemort said, walking up to Narcissa Malfoy. She didn't remember being shorter than the woman. But she was. She wondered how much being a wraith would have distorted her perceptions.

"You've returned," Lucius said breathlessly.

"With no thanks to you," Voldemort said. "You, who claimed to be one of my inner circle. One of my dearest supporters. And you, Narcissa, who didn't even try to get her sister out of Azkaban."

"My Lord," Lucius started. "There were no rumors, there were no-"

"The climate was not right, we couldn't defend their torture of the Longbo-"

"Excuses," Voldemort snapped and they both immediately fell silent. "Meant to make yourselves feel better about your abject failures."

"My Lord," Narcissa started, but Voldemort waived her off. She walked past Narcissa and Lucius and toward what she knew was their dining room, with a familiar long table. The Malfoy's followed, lowering their wands. Wormtail followed after them, keeping his wand leveled on his former opponents.

"Lucius," Voldemort said. "Do you still have the support you always claimed to within the Ministry?"

"Of course, my Lord," he responded quickly. "I kept all my connections, to be better able to serve you."

"To serve yourself," Voldemort corrected. Lucius winced. "No matter. Your first task will be to ensure that the Ministry does not believe the Potter boy."

"What for, My Lord?" Lucius asked.

"The boy saw me. He knows of my return. He will tell Dumbledore. Dumbledore will tell Fudge. We must persuade Fudge to think it is nonsense. Can you do that?" she asked.

"I would think so," Lucius said.

"Fudge is terrified of Dumbledore," Narcissa said as they entered the dining room. Voldemort walked the length of the table and sat at the large wooden chair at the head, facing the door.

"Then we should be able to use that to play them against each other," Voldemort said. "Sit."

The Malfoy's stared at her. Wormtail sat immediately, in a seat at the far end of the long table. The Malfoy's hesitated. Lucius though, sat first, sitting to Voldemort's right, two chairs down. Narcissa paused, and sat on her husband's left, in what should have been Bellatrix's chair, acting as a buffer between her husband and the Dark Lord.

"I will certainly do my best," Lucius said. "Fudge was terrified after the tournament. Crouch was kissed on his order."

"A terrible loss," Voldemort said hollowly. She'd assumed Crouch would not have been smart enough to get himself out after the boy returned. And apparently he hadn't. He was never particularly useful, but he'd been eager. And eagerness had uses of its own.

"It may sway Fudge, though," Narcissa frowned.

"Convince him otherwise. Pin it on Crouch senior. He broke his insane son out of Azkaban. One rogue father will be easier for him to swallow than one Dark Lord," Voldemort said.

"Yes Master," Lucius said.

"Now," Voldemort smiled. "Shall we see who shows? Narcissa?" She held up her right hand, palm up. Narcissa hesitated, seeming to realize the folly of taking her sister's chair. But after a moment she offered her left wrist, placing it on Voldemort's palm. The Dark Lord raised her wand and poked the tip of it into the mark, through the sleeve of the dress. Wordlessly, she summoned her followers. Narcissa winced against the burning of the mark, but did not make a noise.

Small pops emanated from the room, some wore their full regalia, others didn't. Some looked surprised at the head of the table, others didn't. After just a few moments, about half of the seats were filled. She ran her eyes over the table, counting who showed, and who didn't and who was in prison and who wasn't. After a strained, silent moment, she smiled, which seemed to relax the room.

"Welcome back," she said softly examining the Death Eaters before her. "Now, let us begin again."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Chapter 3

Harry hadn't felt so alone since before his first year at Hogwarts. He'd been home from school for a month and yet he couldn't get any information from anyone about Lord Voldemort. Even the Daily Prophet, which he'd taken a subscription of, didn't offer any insight into the Dark Lord's return.

It was to the point that he didn't look at much more than the headline. Every day he found himself more and more annoyed when the primary news source of Magical Britain continually ignored the return of Lord Voldemort.

His only source of any news about Voldemort came in the form of cryptic letters from Ron and Hermione. But, they spent more time talking about how they couldn't talk about anything than anything else. And after the first two lines that just irritated him. He hadn't even bothered writing back to them after their last letter. Instead he'd just sent Hedwig off to force them to write more in reply. Perhaps he would compose a real letter after his birthday, if his bird returned, but for now, he couldn't think of anything to say.

It didn't help that their letters implied that they were busy, having fun, and together. While he sat at Privet drive bored, alone, and miserable. He'd even finished his summer assignments already. None of them had seemed particularly difficult. But once they were completed, he realized he had absolutely nothing he needed to be doing. And that just made him pace and try to catch the Muggle news, on the assumption that mysterious deaths linked to Voldemort would make the muggle news.

Either way, if he thought about the letters from his friends too much, then he'd just grow annoyed and angry at them. He sent Hedwig off to pester them, to get real information. But she hadn't returned. He wondered if she would. And he wondered If they were even capable of giving him more information. But when thinking about that made him want to hit something, or someone, he decided he should let it go.

He'd managed to hide in the bushes under the Dursley's living room window. But eventually they'd discovered that hiding spot too, and had kicked him out of the home, for the afternoon at least, as a kid listening to the news was strange. Or so they thought.

Still after that he found himself just wandering around Privet drive more often than not. And while he had to wonder about his safety, as surely he'd be a target of dark witches and wizards, he still never felt particularly unsafe. Well at least when Dudley wasn't around.

Harry couldn't help but feel that anyone that who figured teaching Dudley how to box should have been put into some type of institution. Certainly, if he was still attending Muggle schooling he'd have spent his summers rather afraid of his cousin. But Dudley tended to stay well clear of him for now.

He knew his cousin was frightened of him. He knew that he could taunt him, tease him, threaten him, and that Dudley wouldn't have the stones to do anything about it. And he knew that he could do it in front of Dudley's friends and emasculate the boy. But he didn't. Harry figured that if Dudley was going to leave him alone, he may as well return the favor.

Harry wandered into a park a few blocks away from the Dursley's home. There were a few kids playing on the equipment an d a few parents watching. Two of the adults gave him a skeptical look as he walked toward a picnic table. No doubt they were wondering just what he was doing home from his institute for the incurably insane, or whatever it was that Vernon had told everyone he attended. Regardless, he figured if he kept to himself, they'd keep to themselves.

He sat on the picnic table, turning his gaze skyward and enjoying the warmth on his skin. It had been a hot summer. Yet he still often felt chilled by the thought that Lord Voldemort was back. The thought frightened him.

He was having trouble sleeping. He'd wake in a cold sweat, convinced that the Dark Lord was in the room with him. She hadn't been. Ever. He knew Privet drive had all sorts of protections. He knew he was safe there. At least Dumbledore insisted he was safe there, and he had no reason to doubt that statement. Of course, he wasn't there, at the moment. Instead he was wandering around nearby. He wondered if the protections extended that far?

Still, thoughts of her frightened him. He knew they probably should. But that wasn't a reassuring thought. The thought just chilled him. So he figured today, at least, after no news of strange deaths or unusual happenings, he'd fight the chill with the summer sun. So he sat at the picnic table and absorbed its warmth, a small smile coming to his face.

He ignored the anger growing in him. He knew why people stare at him. He knew the slander the Dursley's spread about him. He knew the lies they told everyone because it made them feel superior. One day, he vowed, he'd make them realize how inferior they were.

Harry blinked at that thought. It had flashed through his mind briefly. But enough to give him pause. After a moment, though, he decided he didn't care enough about the Dursley's to worry about their inferiority. That he would just ignore them. Because if he wasn't bothered, then he was better than they were. And then he won.

He must have slept, because a commotion stirred him awake. He looked around for a moment, trying to decipher the voices he heard. His immediate thought was that he was doomed. That Lord Voldemort had found him. But after a moment he realized that wasn't the case.

The parents and the smaller children were gone. But some teenagers were left. And Harry noticed Dudley and his friends, well, his gang, were walking up toward the park. They appeared to be stalking directly toward someone in the park. A girl, Harry noticed. And one that looked vaguely familiar to him. He slid off the table and started walking toward them as well.

"Leave me alone, Dursley" he heard the girl shout, looking over her shoulder at the approaching gang as she moved away. She approached a few of the children and shooed them away from the park. They fled, fleeing past Harry. Two of them paused and looked at him, wide-eyed, as he approached. They fled away from him and left the park.

"Come on Mitchell," Dudley yelled back over here. "Just once and we'll leave him alone."

"Really?" the girl laughed. She spun to face Dudley's gang, digging her heel into the ground as if bracing herself. Harry blinked a bit, pausing as he recognized her. He hadn't seen her since he was eleven. They'd been in the same class together, with Dudley, when they were younger. Her name, he remembered in an instant, was Phoebe Mitchell, but everyone called her Fee. At least they had when they were ten.

Memories of her flashed back to him. She'd warned him, once or twice, when they were in school when Dudley was looking for him. She'd stood up for him to teachers, once or twice, when Dudley was misleading them, stating Harry did something he hadn't. She'd saved him, once or twice, from Dudley's friends. But only a few times, until their wrath changed from him to her.

"Really," Dudley laughed. He had an annoying smirk on his face. Harry started walking toward him. He slipped his hand into his pocket, running it over holly. He took a deep breath and approached the scene.

"I'm not going to blow you, Dudley, and threatening to beat up my sister is just wrong. Go away, Dursley." Two members of his gang chuckled at her words. But they were silenced by a glare from Dudley. They hadn't noticed Harry approaching yet.

"It's five on one right now. You must not like your sister all that much," Dudley's friend, Piers, said.

"Not at all," Dudley added. "We'll just have to make sure we find her tomorrow. I believe she gets done with summer school at what, two?"

"You wouldn't dare," Phoebe said. Harry could see hear clearly then. She was a thin brunette wearing jeans and a t-shirt that said 'The Kinks' with a backdrop of the union jack. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she looked desperately like she didn't want to be there. For the briefest of moments, Harry could feel her anger. He could feel the primal power in her fear. He could see her body tense. He could almost feel her instinct to fight rise. And for a moment, he thought he could feel the unmistakable aura of magic being readied from her. But that vanished as soon as the thought shocked him, and he realized that it must have been his own.

"Who's going to stop us?" Piers laughed. "You? Easier to just do what we say. Anyway. It's five on one. Running will just make it worse. Just come back with us. We'll even give you some beer."

"Or wine, or smokes," Dudley said, as if trying to bribe her even more. He looked like he was going to say something more, but then he paused and looked past Phoebe, directly at Harry. Harry held his wand in his hand, twirling it through his fingers down at his side.

"Five on two," Harry said calmly. For a moment any thought of possible punishment fading from his mind. All he knew was that Dudley and his gang would not harm this girl. And if they tried, he'd make sure they never harmed anyone ever again.

"Oh Potter," Piers laughed. "That will just make it more fun."

"We're leaving," Dudley said, almost hesitantly. He stepped away from his Gang. Two followed him without question, but Piers turned to look at him.

"Why?" he laughed. "We haven't had a go with Potter in ages. It's not like he's going to stop us either."

"We're leaving," Dudley said, more sternly. He flexed his fist at Piers and the other boy nodded.

"Fine, we'll deal with her later," Piers said. Dudley ignored him and started walking off. Piers followed him, with just one glance back. Harry pointed his wand at the ground, telling himself to not curse either of them as they walked away. After a moment, he heard Phoebe speak.

"Thanks," she said quietly. Harry just shrugged his shoulders.

"No problem," Harry responded. "Just glad I was here. Does that happen often?"

"Well he's always been a cunt," she said snottily. "But no. He's been more aggressive this summer. I personally can't wait till he goes back to school."

"I bet," Harry said. "Do they do this every night?"

"No," she responded. "Just some. They broke Sarah Evans's brother's arm last week. A great tenth birthday present for him. They claimed he fell from a tree and that they were quite the little heroes to get him to an adult."

"And I wonder why his parents think he can do no wrong," Harry said, shaking his head as he stepped closer to Phoebe. She hadn't moved from where she'd turned to face Dudley and his gang. She looked at him for a moment. Then, after the briefest of pauses, she shook her head, almost in disbelief.

"How did you scare him off by just showing up?" she asked. "I mean he used to be just awful to you in school. I feared for you at home."

"He was never as bad at home. Still awful, mind you, but he wouldn't go out of his way to get physical," Harry remarked dryly. He paused and looked out over the neighborhood, not really wanting to reflect on those past memories

"Well, anyway," she said, trying steer the conversation back away from worse memories. "How'd you frighten him?"

"Lucky, I guess," Harry said. She just raised her eyebrows at him.

"So nothing to do with whatever they teach you at St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys?" she asked quietly. Harry groaned aloud when he said it.

"So everyone knows?" He said.

"Yes," Phoebe responded.

"That explains why the kids run away from me," he said.

"Yes that would do it. You're dangerous," she teased. Harry frowned.

"Well, I'll uh, just be going then," Harry frowned. He started to walk away from her, tucking his wand into his pocket as stealthily as he could manage. After three steps she called out.

"Please don't," she said. "Sorry I shouldn't have joked. Walk me home? It's getting dark and I don't want to run into them again."

"Okay," he said. He walked back over to her. She smiled at him, a single dimple showing in the moonlight.

"Thanks," she said. He smiled back, weakly, and gestured for her to walk.

"Lead on," he said. She started walking and he walked with her, feeling relieved, for a moment, to have any sort of company. They didn't say anything as they walked out of the park, walking at a very leisurely pace. It wasn't until they were completely out of the park, walking back through the houses that she spoke.

"I know it's fake, you know," she said.

"What is?" he asked.

"St. Brutus's," she responded. "After your aunt told my mother where you were schooling I went and looked it up at the library. It doesn't exist. Not in this country or in America, or in any other country I could look up schools in."

"Oh," Harry said. She seemed to move closer to him, walking at his side. They were silent for another moment before she spoke up again.

"Where do you go for schooling?" she asked. Harry hesitated before answering as honestly as he could.

"A boarding school in Scotland," he responded. He almost left it at that, but figured she would press if he didn't keep talking. So he hoped he could get away without having to think up a name for it. "It's pleasant enough. I enjoy it. What about you, where do you go off to?"

"Nowhere," she laughs. "I go just around the corner." She gestured down a road. "I don't think I could manage a boarding school. I'd hate being away for home for so long."

"It starts to become your home," Harry said. "After a while you rather be there than here."

"I'd miss my family too much," she responded almost instantly. "I know I would."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. He'd never missed Privet drive. But he knew he was likely the exception, and not the rule, in that regard. He looked up at the street signs as they walked, taking the time to remember just where they were and where they were going. Although he did not know what street Phoebe lived on.

"I suppose you don't relish time with your Aunt and Uncle," she said.

"I don't," he responded.

"I'm sorry," she said sadly. She frowned at him. Green eyes shining in the moonlight as she did.

"Oh it's alright," Harry said. "They haven't been that bad the last couple of years. Mostly they just ignore me. There's worse things."

"I bet there are," she frowned. "Especially when Dudley is around."

"I can't say having Dudley ignore me isn't a wonderful thing," Harry joked.

"I wish he'd ignore me," Phoebe laughed.

"Does he threaten other girls with, well, what he brought up with you?" Harry asked quietly.

"Not that I'm aware of," she said. "But he just started doing this within the last week. I'll have to make sure I don't let my sister walk home alone for the rest of the summer. But maybe he'll find new prey." She made a face at the thought, like passing off her problem was not the correct solution, but one she would settle for.

"I hate him," Harry balled his hands into fists.

"Me too," Phoebe said. "But we'll go on. If he does anything I'll go straight to the police. I almost did it today anyway. And my parents will always back me. They don't really like the Dursleys at all either. So I'll be alright."

"Good," Harry said. He stepped onto Privet drive as they approached the cross street. Phoebe stopped moving as he did. Harry noticed after two more steps, and turned to look at her.

"I'm down this way," she said with a half-smile, pointing own another street.

"Oh," he said. He took a step back toward her but she shook her head.

"Oh I'm just three houses down I can make it unescorted from here," she teased. He nodded.

"Well then, have a good night, Phoebe," he said.

"You too, Harry," she responded warmly. Harry liked that warmth. It made him smile at her, before he even realized he was doing it.

"I'll try to do something about Dudley," Harry said quietly. Phoebe smiled back at him as he said it.

"Thank you," she responded. He turned to leave, to head back toward number four. But she spoke again. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

"What?" he asked, not sure if he heard her right. He turned to face her once more.

"Sorry," she bushed, looking away from him as she spoke, seeming nervous for the first time that evening. "I was just wondering if you'd like to do something with me tomorrow night. Maybe have a picnic in the park?"

"Okay," Harry said, so surprised he couldn't think of anything to do but agree. She smiled warmly at him once more.

"Great. So like seven?" she asked carefully eyeing him.

"Seven sounds good," Harry said.

"Perfect. I'll see you then," she said. And she turned to walk down the cross street. Harry watched walk the length of the first house, and then the second. When she turned toward the third he turned to walk down Privet drive, all the while wondering why it hadn't been that easy to find a date to the Yule Ball.

Lord Voldemort sat at the desk in the guest room of Malfoy Manor. She rapped her nails against the desk as her eyes scanned locked on the Daily Prophet. There was still nothing about her in it. Which amused her to no end. She hadn't even had to try to stifle the news, or force Malfoy to bribe someone to silence the news. No, Minister Fudge was doing it for her. She chuckled to herself at the thought.

The veiled slander amused her too. While she certainly didn't have anything positive to say about Dumbledore herself, it was amusing to her to see both he and Harry Potter routinely insulted and belittled in articles. Even if it was just in throw-away sentences here or there. Regardless, though, the paper was doing her work for her, and she didn't even have to lift a finger to help.

She was momentarily distracted by a knock on the door of the guest room. She looked up to see a very pale Lucius Malfoy looking into the room. She knew that her presence wasn't particularly welcome in the Malfoy home, and she knew she wouldn't intrude on them for much longer either, as she had many other tasks to accomplish before the world knew of her return.

Of course she knew, judging from the transcripts of recent speeches she read, that Dumbledore would be fighting her at every turn. So she'd have to work around that. But as long as the Ministry did not ally itself with Dumbledore, she would be able to proceed slowly, and make sure everything was in place.

"Yes Lucius?" she said after finishing the article she'd been skimming. It was a transcript of one of Dumbledore's speeches to the International Confederation of Wizards. The paper was highly critical of the 'war-mongering' tone it claimed Dumbledore had. The speech was all about her return too. After the transcript there were quotes from many wizarding politicians from many countries all stating that Dumbledore was losing it. And that he should step down from the ICW.

"I received the information you were looking for," Lucius asked carefully. He stared at her from the doorway to the room almost as if he was afraid to enter it without her express permission.

"Excellent," she said. She stood and walked over to him, plucking a piece of parchment from his hand and staring at the one line on it. She nodded before folding it in half and tucking it into a pocket of her black dress.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" Lucius asked. He leaned away from the door, looking like he wanted to flee. She shook her head, wondering exactly what happened to the Malfoy's after the war that made them so skittish around her. Lucius had always been a devout servant, yet now he looked to be nothing but afraid of her. She still planned on using their home as a base for operations and meetings. But she would not be staying there at least. Hopefully having her around in passing would be more effective than her constant presence. Although she figured she'd have to leave Nagini to spy to ensure their loyalty at first.

She'd picked the snake up from the graveyard the night before. Dumbledore had shown up the next day. He'd found the place more quickly than she would have expected. But he hadn't done more than look around and leave. According to the snake he barely stayed for three minutes.

"Yes," she said after a moment. "The diary I entrusted to your protection. I require it back."

"My Lord I…I," Lucius stuttered. Voldemort frowned to herself. She already knew he didn't have it. Crouch had told her the Chamber of Secrets had been reopened. She knew that wouldn't have happened by chance. Whoever opened it had to have had help. And she figured that help would have been her horcrux. She also knew it had been destroyed. Dumbledore had shown it to Crouch while they discussed the possibility of her return when her servant was masquerading as Mad-Eye Moody. He'd relayed that information to her.

She'd been furious to find that the object had been destroyed. But her fury had dulled to annoyance now. She was thankful that Dumbledore had not mentioned to Moody what it was. She wondered if he even knew, or if he just hadn't felt like sharing that information with who he thought was the elder auror. Now, though, she was just curious as to how Malfoy would respond to her calling him on it.

"You gave it away," Voldemort said.

"Yes my Lord," Lucius said, staring at the ground.

"To whom?" she asked skeptically.

"The Weasley girl," Lucius said.

"Why?" Voldemort asked.

"You mentioned the diary had power. And that it was capable of corrupting whoever attempted to read it. The Weasley's are close to Potter. It seemed like a perfect plan to lure them in and eliminate a few of them," Lucius said.

"You gambled with a priceless magical object that I ordered you to keep safe, on the whim that you might have success hurting Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked. Lucius Malfoy balked away from her words.

"Yes, my Lord," he responded, still refusing to meet her eyes.

"Foolish," she said.

"My Lord, I," Lucius started.

"You were foolish," Voldemort cut him off.

"Yes My Lord," Lucius agreed quickly.

"Still," Voldemort sighed. "I cannot fault your intentions. Although I am not foolish enough myself to think you were doing it for any other reason than to divest yourself of my legacy. I would have much preferred you actually use your resources to find and assist me, than concoct plans to rid yourself of my possessions."

"My Lord I am so sorry," Lucius said.

"I know," Voldemort said. Lucius tensed as her eyes focused on him. "But I had been gone for a decade by that point. And I have a feeling if I punish all of you for stupidity in my absence, I will run short on followers."

"My Lord, thank you," Lucius said, seeming visibly relieved.

"Do anything that foolish again, though, Lucius, and you will regret it," she responded quietly. He just nodded. After a moment she spoke again. "When will Severus and your son be here?"

"Momentarily," Lucius said.

"Good," she said. "Send them up when they get here. Your next task is to ensure that the Daily Prophet keeps writing articles like this about Dumbledore and Potter. That will be a useful ruse for now."

"Certainly, my Lord," Lucius responded. "A simple bribe to the editor should be able to ensure that readily enough.

"See that it's done," Voldemort responded. Lucius nodded and left the doorway, no doubt to go make sure galleons wound up in the correct hands.

Voldemort returned to the paper, sitting back at the desk and paging through the paper. She didn't have time to read another article. As moments later she could hear someone coming up the stairs. She stood once more, smoothing her dress down over her knees. Moments later Lucius's son entered the room, looking smug.

He'd grown quite a bit since she last remembered seeing him. He had his hair styled and his eyes were alight. He looked supremely confident as he strode into the room.

"Mother said I had a visitor," Draco Malfoy said. Lord Voldemort raised her eyebrows and stared at him, wondering if that was really what Narcissa had told him, or if the boy just hadn't been paying attention to subtlety.

"Hello Draco," Voldemort said softly. His eyes flashed to her. And then down her body. And he smiled.

"Hello, I don't believe we've met," he smiled fully at her. "You're quite pretty, just why are you waiting for me in a guest bedroom?" His eyes flashed to the bed when he finished speaking.

"We haven't," she said coolly. He did not seem to notice her tone and just kept looking at her. "Where is Severus?"

"Who?" Draco asked. But a moment later it clicked in his head. "Oh Professor Snape? Why would he be here?"

"Because I summoned him," Voldemort responded slowly, trying to make her tone sound as if she was addressing a confused child not worth her time.

"Why would he care if you summoned him?" Draco laughed aloud as he asked the question, as if he couldn't fathom a reason why that would matter at all to the Hogwarts Potions Master. Voldemort just took a moment to appraise him. She wondered to herself just how much of this she was going to have to tolerate in the coming months.

She didn't remember youths being that annoying back when she was actually in her late teens and early twenties. But the climate had been considerably different. A massive war had just ended. And shed been told she often had a demeanor that scared people away. Even if they would have wanted to talk to her, they never would have thought of approaching her. She wondered if half a century had just changed people's perspectives so much. Or if Draco was an exception and not the rule. Either way he walked to sit on the edge of the bed, smiling at her expectantly as he did.

Before she answered Draco's question, though, another man walked into the room.

"You summoned me, My Lord?" Severus Snape said from the doorway. She turned to him and nodded.

"No need to call me My Lord," Draco laughed cockily. Snape glared at the boy. Voldemort ignored him.

"Yes Severus, I did," she responded. "I had questions for both of you."

"My Lord," Severus pleaded. "Surely we established my loyalty already. Again I apologize for not fleeing immediately when the mark burned. And for my mistake with Crouch but I was able to preserve my position and stay your spy within Hogwarts."

"I am not questioning your loyalty, Severus," Voldemort responded. "I have questions about another topic I wish to review. And of every resource I have access to, you two are, quite sadly I might add, my best chance of acquiring the information I need."

"My Lord?" Draco said, clearly to himself, staring between Snape and Voldemort. Moments later realization dawned on him and he slipped off the bed and kneeled infront of the Dark Lord.

"Get up," Voldemort snapped out of annoyance.

"My Lord I am so sorry I did not know it was you!" Draco stammered. He raised his head to look at the Dark Lord. His eyes were wide and filled with terror.

"Obviously," Voldemort responded. She caught Snape snickering out of the corner of her eye as Draco still looked frightened.

"I didn't mean what I said," Draco said.

"Draco," Voldemort said his name softly. He paused, looking at her. "This is quite easy. If you keep sniveling beneath me I am going to curse you out of annoyance. Answer my questions and I will forgive your inept attempt at flirtation. Loyal servants are rewarded. Others are not so lucky." She let her voice trail off, figuring that Draco could ponder about whatever he felt a suitable reward would be.

"Yes my Lord," he said.

"How can we assist you?" Severus asked after a moment. The older man did not seem to want to be there. Clearly he felt doing his assigned task would be the easiest way to get away.

"Tell me about Harry Potter," Voldemort said, her eyes flashing between them. Severus's jaw sealed tightly. Draco rolled his eyes as if the thought of Harry Potter annoyed him enough in school and that he didn't want to focus on the boy outside of school.

"What about him," Draco spat.

"Everything," Voldemort said. "I need to learn everything I can. Likes, dislikes, traits."

"The boy is much like his father," Snape said dryly. "He's more interested in garnering attention for himself than achieving any type of accomplishment. Despite being distinctly mediocre he struts around with a presumed arrogance."

"Exactly," Draco agreed quickly. "He's not really good at anything. He's really overrated on a broom, too."

"Well Severus, your opinion of him hasn't changed in the last few years then, I see," Voldemort said. Snape flushed red and angry.

"It's not opinion. It's fact," he defended himself.

"He quite excelled in my class. And he quite excelled in Crouch's class as well," Voldemort said dryly. "Perhaps potions are just not his forte."

"Your class?" Draco looked confused.

"My Lord I assure you he is just a clone of his father," Snape argued. "He is marginally talented at best. You have nothing at all to fear from him."

"You think I fear him?" Voldemort laughed aloud. "I do not fear him, Severus."

"Of course you do not fear him," Severus corrected himself immediately. "My point was that by comparison he is nothing compared to you."

"Yet he has still thwarted me on multiple occasions. Which is something that very few wizards can say," Voldemort commented.

"Nothing more than luck, my Lord," Snape responded.

"Perhaps that's true," Voldemort said. "Perhaps it isn't. Either way my previous efforts failed. Now it is time to learn."

"Well I have told you what the boy is like," Snape said.

"And as always you're clouded by your hatred of his father. You've described James Potter more accurately than Harry Potter, Severus." Voldemort said.

"I have been nothing but honest with you my Lord," he spat back.

"We both know that is a lie, Severus" Voldemort said quietly. Snape flushed red and looked away from the Dark Lord. Voldemort turned to look at Draco. "So Draco, do you share Severus's opinion?"

"I guess?" Draco said.

"Tell me about the boy," she responded.

"Well we don't really spend much time around each other," Draco said. "I mean he's not good in potions. He seems friendly with the giant in creatures. He actually puts forth effort there which is strange enough."

"Does he have many friends?" Voldemort asked.

"Well he's always with Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. The other Weasley's are around him a lot," Draco said.

"What about amongst the other houses?" she asked.

"I don't know," Draco said. "I don't really spend any time with Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs,"

"Fine," Voldemort said. "Leave us Draco."

"I-but I could think of more!" he said, looking alarmed at being dismissed.

"Leave us," Voldemort said, more sternly than before. Draco swallowed hard but did leave the room. Voldemort stared at Snape.

"You must learn about the boy," she said.

"My Lord I don't see the point," Snape responded.

"Learn about the boy, Severus. He is not James Potter. You are the closest positioned to do so. So do so. I want to know all I can about him," she responded. She doubted her words would sink in though. She doubted Severus could get over his childhood hatred for the man who he blamed for ruining his happiness. Until he realize that he'd lost Lily Evans on his own, he wasn't going to be able to see Harry as anything other than James. But she'd make him try. It would be a good way to see just how dedicated he was to her cause.

"Yes my Lord," Snape said. His voice barely audible. As if he thought if he couldn't hear his own words, than he couldn't be expected to actually hold to them. Somehow, she knew this would be a task she'd have to undertake by herself.

"Good. And while you're working on that I need you to retrieve something from Dumbledore for me," Lord Voldemort said.

"From Dumbledore? My Lord that may not be possible," Severus Snape looked shocked at the mere idea. "And he would certainly suspect me if I was pilfering things from his office."

"Then be clever about it. Crouch informed me he still has the remnants of the diary that was used to open the Chamber of Secrets. I would like it back," Voldemort said.

"I've seen that diary. He had me examine it after he received it back. There's absolutely nothing left of it," Snape said.

"Be that as it may, I would still like it back," Voldemort said.

"I will do my best, my Lord," Snape said after a moment.

"Good. Thank you, Severus. That will be all," Voldemort said. Severus Snape looked at her for a moment, appraisingly. She thought, for the briefest of moments, that he wanted to say something. She knew what it would be. She knew he was just waiting to snap over the fact that she murdered Lily Potter. But he didn't say anything. Instead he just turned and left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Voldemort apparated into the graveyard near the Riddle House around midday. It was a cool early August day and the breeze blowing through the gravestones was colder than she'd dressed for. A flick of her wand, though, was all it took to warm herself to the point where she could ignore the breeze.

She paced around the gravestones for a few moments, scanning the area for any sign of leftover magic, any trap, anything out of place. She didn't find anything. She wondered if Dumbledore had even ascertained the location from interrogating Potter. She couldn't fathom that he wouldn't have. But he hadn't left anything behind in case Voldemort returned. And that seemed like an incredibly short-sighted decision.

The Dark Lord closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment, focusing on her magic, focusing on every single bit of her. She could sense various things when she did that, markers left for herself, she focused on the one closest to her and opened her eyes.

Nagini was only a few paces away. The snake slept, curled on a rock in the sun. She stared at the animal for a few moments before hissing.

"Wake up, Nagini," she said.

"Master?" The snake opened her eyes and lifted its head as it uncoiled its body.

"Did Dumbledore come after I left?" Voldemort asked as Nagini slithered over toward her feet.

"Yes master," the snake responded immediately. "He came back early in the morning after you were restored. He examined the graves and the cauldron you left before walking down toward the town."

"The town?" Voldemort asked. That move surprised her. She'd expected the manor to be his immediate destination, not the town.

"Yes," the snake responded. "I followed him to the edge of the graveyard, but once he made the road I think he noticed me so I slunk off into the grass away from him."

"He didn't investigate?" Voldemort asked.

"No master," Nagini responded. "I did my best to make sure I seemed like nothing more than an ordinary snake. And after he saw me I simply continued moving away from him. He kept moving toward the town. But I lost him in my haste of not being noticed."

"That's fine," Voldemort said. She paused for a moment, before turning toward the path that led out of the graveyard and down toward the town. "It's probably better if Dumbledore doesn't take an interest in you, anyway."

"Yes master," Nagini said, following after the Dark Lord as she made her way through the wrought iron gates and onto the stone road.

"Stay in the grass, Nagini, and scout ahead," Voldemort ordered as soon as she noticed the snake was following directly in her path. Nagaini slithered ahead of her into the long grass moving down toward the town.

There was silence then, she caught the end of the snake moving ahead of her through the grass and she slowed her step. She gazed over her shoulder, once, to scan the Riddle house. She hadn't been back inside since shortly after the authorities started investigating the death of the gardener.

After that incident she'd moved to Crouch's home instead. After Barty Junior became strong enough to control his father it had been a rather perfect hiding spot. And she'd been able to eavesdrop on all sorts of ministry officials as they gossiped about the news of the day. That was one area where she knew she'd need to focus her efforts. Hopefully Lucius was still as well informed as he'd been during the war.

Or, she smirked wryly to herself, hopefully large bribes still bought as much information as they had in the past. From what she'd managed to gather of Minister Fudge, the man was desperate to stay in power. And men were very easy to manipulate when it came to power. Almost as easy as when it came to sex.

"Old woman," the snake hissed. Voldemort drew her eyes from the Riddle house and back to the road just as an elderly woman turned the corner and started making her way to the graveyard. She was carrying a bouquet of flowers and moving very slowly.

"Good Afternoon!" The woman said cheerily, but weakly, as she approached the Dark Lord. Voldemort's hand slipped to her wand.

"Two youths, probably going the other way," Nagini hissed from nearby.

"Hello," Voldemort said carefully, eyeing the woman and her flowers.

"Coming back from seeing someone?" the woman asked. Voldemort pressed her lips together carefully and lied easily.

"No," she said. "I was just out for a walk and the path came this way." The woman was still far enough away, and walking too slowly for Voldemort to simply walk past her without ignoring her for far longer than appropriate. She remembered that these simple interactions were often less noticeable, or less remembered, than being intentionally rude.

"Oh are you new in town?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Voldemort lied with a smile. "I'm working nights over at the new hotel." She vaguely remembered the small building from when Wormtail had brought her and Nagini here, before they'd moved into the Riddle house. All she really remembered clearly was the young woman working the counter at night being annoyed with having to end her phone call about her philandering boss to get Wormtail a room.

Of course, she figured if she had to stop doing something to cater to Wormtail she'd probably be a bit annoyed too. So perhaps the underworked clerk had something right about the entire situation.

"Well welcome to Little Hangleton!" the woman said jovially. Voldemort smiles politely at her, but drew her hand out of her pocket to hold it normally at her side while she walked.

"Thank you," Voldemort said as she walked past the woman. She was almost clear of her when the woman spoke once more.

"Oh my," she said, staring at Voldemort with wide eyes.

"What is it?" Voldemort asked, feigning concern. But the woman just shook her head.

"Sorry it's nothing," she said. "Just mistook you for someone who used to live here years and years ago. Emily, I think her name was. But I'm grasping at straws. Lord, she would have been here back during the war. She'd be at least my age by now. Are you sure you're not a local?" And the woman laughed, playfully, waving a hand as if waving off such silly thoughts. Voldemort paled but just nodded a bit, forcing another polite smile onto her face, a shiver tracing down her spine. But she did her best to not let anything show. The old woman didn't seem to think twice about it.

"I was born and raised in London," Voldemort said, before spouting the simplest story she could concoct on short notice. "I came up her with a boy. He ran off to Dublin with another girl. Now, well, you know," she shrugged her shoulders. The woman nodded at her.

"Oh yes. Chasing love. That always seems like a great idea at the time. Until you get wherever you're going," the woman said. Voldemort nodded as if agreeing, but stepped backward away from the elderly woman.

"I should run," she said. "I'm too new to be late for my shift."

"Certainly, thanks for chatting dearie," the woman smiled at her and turned on her way as well.

Voldemort scampered down the path, cutting quickly through the buildings and out onto a deserted street. Moments later Nagini circled back to where she was walking.

She'd never thought she'd be recognized. What were the odds of that? Such a thought hadn't even seemed remotely possible. Yet the old woman, who must have had a particularly good memory, had recognized her. Sure, she'd brushed it off as her mind playing tricks on her, doubtless because this body wasn't nearly old enough to match her memories.

But that was a wrinkle she hadn't expected. In fact, she'd been worried about quite the opposite. She'd been worried her followers wouldn't recognize her. She'd expected that her followers wouldn't see the youthful woman as their Dark Lord. So far they'd catered to her whims, but she didn't know how long that would last if they decided that her appearance meant weakness.

Dumbledore would know what she looked like, true. And he would recognize her. But perhaps he'd glossed over that information with Potter while they discussed her routine. Snape told her that the Headmaster of Hogwarts had interrogated Potter the morning after her routine. They'd spoken in her office for the better part of a morning.

And while she could hope that Dumbledore had overlooked something as simple as her appearance, she highly doubted that would be the case. So she couldn't count on not being recognized, at least by people trained to look.

Either way she wasn't nearly confident enough to attempt a stroll down Diagon Alley without proper precautions. But, thankfully she didn't need to yet. So she'd worry about crossing that bridge if it became crucial.

"The path to the shack is clear," the snake reported. Voldemort turned to gaze at the snake, wondering just how it knew where she was going. She frowned a bit at the thought of the connection between the two of them. It must have picked the location out of her head without realizing it had done so.

"Thank you," she hissed back. "Keep watch while I go in."

"Yes master." It responded as they walked up to the shack. Years ago she'd enchanted the plot of land so that only a supremely powerful witch would be able to enter. She stepped over the first rung of enchantment with no difficulty. The ease at which she stepped over the first line of defenses assured her of the raw power her body still had, even if she hadn't practiced much magic with this new body yet.

But the first line of defenses was nothing really. Just a basic barrier against weak magical power and Muggles, it wouldn't be enough to hold many people are bay. But it had prevented Muggles from noticing the tract of land, and demolishing the cottage or developing anything in its place.

She stepped into the first room of the Gaunt's hovel and gazed around. She frowned. She disliked the hovel immensely. She wondered just what toll that tiny shack had taken on her mother. She didn't like thinking about her mother's family, so instead she focused on the building.

It was exactly how she'd left it years and years ago. None of the traps triggered when she entered. But they weren't supposed to attack her. She'd made sure of that before she'd left the last time.

It was one of the reasons she hadn't used this horcrux, despite its relative proximity to their former base of operations, to revive herself. It had been much easier to simply tell Crouch how to access the room with the one in Hogwarts rather than send Wormtail or Crouch into the death trap that was her ancestral home.

Little Hangleton had never been a particular target of the Luftwaffe during the blitz, Voldemort knew. But it had still seen its fair share of wartime destruction. Her traps were designed around that.

The traps were simply designed with that in mind. There wasn't much elegance or precision in them. She'd just marked random locations in each room with explosive charms. Any out of place touch would detonate them, triggering a chain reaction of every spell in the area. She'd designed it to look like someone had accidentally set off unexploded ordinance from the war.

It was by far the crudest trap she'd set up. But one that she figured anyone who was magically strong enough to enter

She'd left one path through the house. She remembered it well enough; it traveled through the entire hovel into a small room at the back. A room barely large enough to fit a bed and a dresser. A room that Lord Voldemort assumed had, at one point, been nothing more than close. A room that Lord Voldemort knew her mother had spent most of her life.

Voldemort did not like entering the small bedroom. It always made her reflect on her mother. And she preferred to think of the woman as little as humanly possible. The bedroom had no adornments. There was simply a bed tucked into the corner with one roughspun blanket across it. Magic had preserved the blanket and the bed, but there was no longer a pillow. There was nothing else in the room. The Dark Lord expected that her mother had taken all of her possessions when she left.

Voldemort walked over to the bed and knelt before it. She lifted the small loose floorboard up and set it on the safe spot on the edge of the bed. She looked down into the small cavern and stared at the miniscule grey felt box, another relic of her past she would rather keep as far out of her mind as possible.

She plucked it up and held it in her hand for a moment, pushing the thought of when she first held that box out of her mind. Although, for the briefest of moments, she could see the icy Thames and feel the snow falling around her, feel it sticking in her hair, once more.

She bit her lip and turned the box around in her hands. If any skin save hers touched it, the box was supposed to transform into a magical acid that would burn clear through skin and bone of whatever it touched. It would also likely seep into the trapped room and trigger the other explosive traps. The box did not look like it had been moved in a very long time. She paused for a moment before whispering.

"Open," she hissed in parseltongue. It may have been unimaginative, but she knew very few people who could also talk to snakes. The box obeyed her, opening slowly.

It was empty. She stared at the soft velvet setting inside and closed her eyes for a moment. So Dumbledore knew. The Diary must have given it away. Lucius's carelessness had cost her even more than she expected. And if not the diary, surely Harry had mentioned Wormtail putting a diadem into the potion she emerged from. She'd left far too many hints with far too many loose ends about her immortality. Dumbledore was clever enough to figure it out. That much she knew for sure. She slowly put the box back into its spot and ran through the remaining ones in her head.

Thanfully, the Gaunt ring wasn't what she knew Dumbledore would assume it was. He might; however, divine it's true purpose. Of course, if he were to do that it would likely drive him insane, as it nearly had her. But if he had a number in his head, the ring would serve his purpose and mean he miscalculated greatly.

She'd have to be careful with Nagini. Although she wondered if anyone would possibly suspect that she'd turned a live object into a Horcrux. Perhaps being too careful with the snake would draw unwanted attention to it. She shook her head slowly, that was an internal debate for another day.

The locket in the cave, that had to be safe. But she'd have to make sure to check. The only other living creature, excluding those boys that bullied her at the orphanage, who'd ever stepped foot inside that cave was the Black's elf. And she'd left it to die there. The necklace had to be perfectly safe.

The final two; however, were more concerning. She was torn between checking in on them or not. She'd check in on the locket But there was no conceivable way that Dumbledore would be able to find her last two. Still, she'd have to check on the area, at least. But being spotted remotely near there could be a problem.

But if Dumbledore suspected that she'd have to consolidate the objects. Perhaps it would be safest to keep them with her. Or in her dwelling. She disliked the thought of that though. If the Ministry or the Aurors did manage to find her, she'd be handing them powerful magical items that they would almost certainly be able to ascertain their purpose.

No, keeping them with her was likely not the best option. She'd have to think more calmly about that. She'd have to check up on the locket. She frowned as she stepped out into the sunset.

No, she couldn't linger here. And she couldn't let worries dominate her thoughts. There were other plans she needed to set in motion. And her other plans were far more important. And even if Dumbledore could find all of her artifacts, somehow, she didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to destroy all of them. So for the moment at least, she figured she was safe.

She wondered idly if she could make more. They'd grown harder and harder to create. She thought creating the snake was going to end her even in her weakened state she'd thought it would all just be over. But she'd woken up to a shocked Wormtail and recovered as much as she'd been able.

"No one has come by since you went into the house," Nagini said. Voldemort thought calling it a house was generous. But she didn't comment.

"Here, Nagini," she said, gesturing to her shoulders. The snake slithered up to her, then wrapped around her leg and slid up her back to her shoulders.

"I'm going to take you to London," she said calmly. "Sneak into Knockturn alley and spy for me. Listen to conversations that seem out of place. I'll come by to find you in a few days," she said. Ordering the snake out into public gave her some pause. But she knew it was adept at hiding in any environment. A dark shadowy alley would be all it would need.

"Yes master," it responded as they left Little Hangleton with a loud pop.

August came sooner than Harry expected. It was an almost welcome relief to see the calendar change. He always dreaded his time spent at the Dursley's, but the last week or so had been remarkably pleasant.

Granted, that was mostly because he spent next to no time at Privet drive. Instead, most of his days were spent at a local park, sitting or talking with Phoebe as she watched her sister. It was nice. It reminded him of off days between exams at Hogwarts, when term was wrapping up. He loved the days when he would just sit out by the lake with Ron and Hermione. Hermione would prattle on about exams, and Ron would point out girls or talk about quidditch. Harry would usually just sit quietly and listen.

And that was mostly all he did now. He would sit quietly and listen as Phoebe would talk about something or other. Usually for a half hour or so she'd talk. He'd respond when appropriate and then they'd be silent, content to enjoy the warm summer sun.

After a half hour of silence, he'd ask a question. He'd ask mostly out of worry, convinced that she disliked the long silences and that she thought he was foolish or was looking for an excuse to leave or anything. She'd smile her one dimpled smile and then start talking again.

This pattern would continue for most of the day. As the sun would set she'd walk home with her younger sister, and he'd return to Privet drive.

Walking into the Dursley's home brought reality back to him though. He still hadn't found a way to shake off that sinking feeling in his stomach every time he knew he had to return. He knew, before he even walked in, that there would be no news of the wizarding world, that there would be nothing from Ron or Hermione of any substance, and that he would be able to do nothing other than try to sleep and hope the next day came soon.

Sleep troubled him though. He slept fitfully, waking up quite often during the night. Sometimes five to six times. He'd never really been a heavy sleeper, and he'd always been an early riser, but he'd usually slept through the night. But now that seemed to be a rarity with the dreams.

The dreams puzzled him. They were abstract, weird, and confusing, and he had no idea what to make of them. He half wondered if he should write to Professor Trelawney and ask for interoperation. But he already knew what that would be. He was doomed to die a terrible death at a very young age. That was easily predictable. He'd rather not think about if she was right.

But there were just about objects. One night he'd dream of cups, the next jewels, sometimes he'd dream of himself. Often he'd dream of a corridor with a door far down the path that he could never seem to reach. Sometimes he'd dream of all three.

Sometimes they'd be pleasant, like he'd be kissing Cho Chang. But oft they wouldn't stay that way, like he'd realize he was kissing Cho Chang on the back of a gigantic snake that wanted nothing more than to eat him.

He didn't particularly like waking up in a cold sweat because he'd been eaten alive by a snake, but, annoyingly, he was growing rather accustomed to it. Harry decided, though, that he had much better things to focus on and instead looked around the park.

It was the same park that he'd met Phoebe at. More often than not it was where they came to talk. She'd been with him that night but she'd left to take her sister home. She told him she'd be back if her parents would let her back out. But he knew it was growing late and they may tell her to stay inside.

He lay on a picnic table, staring up at the stars, going over some of his last astronomy classes in his head. He picked out certain constellations, mostly out of habit, focusing on his favorites.

"Which one are you looking for?" Phoebe asked from behind him. He sat up on the picnic table and looked over at her. Today she wore a yellow sundress, her hair braided down her back.

"Just gazing mostly. Was looking at Ursa Major," he gestured to it in the sky. Her gaze shifted upward, but not in the exact correct direction. She nodded a bit

"That's supposed to look like a bear, right?" She asked.

"Supposed to," Harry said. "I never really thought they looked like anything. I was abysmal at astronomy for my first two years of school."

"I never thought they looked like anything either. Except like the dippers those are obvious. Astronomy is a required class where you go to school?" She sat on the table next to him, staring up at the sky. She sat close to him, her perfume filling his nostrils for a moment.

"Yeah. It's not too bad though. A lot of charting mostly. And a lot of identifying the constellations. It's pretty basic. And it's just one night a week for a couple of hours," Harry explained. "We can drop it after our fifth year."

"Are you going to drop it?" Phoebe asked quietly.

"I guess that depends on how I do on the year end exams" Harry said with a laugh. She smiled at him.

"I wish we had cooler electives like that," she sighed wistfully. Harry's first thought was to inquire about what classes she took. But he figured that would make him sound far too ignorant of Muggle education, so he surprised the comment. He just stared at her for a moment. She was staring up at the sky, a smile plastered onto her face.

"So your parents let you head back out?" he asked. He figured it wasn't the best topic of conversation. But it was better than him admitting he knew absolutely nothing about the types of classes muggles took in school.

"Not really," Phoebe said. She turned to look at him with a mischievous smirk.

"What they don't know won't hurt them?" Harry asked. For some reason he couldn't help but smirk back.

"Oh they know," she laughed, shaking her head. "But I told them that you'd be waiting for me to come back because I said I'd come back so that at the very least I'd have to come back and tell him that I was past my curfew and return home."

"And that worked?" Harry asked.

"Well I'm here, aren't I?" she teased.

"I guess you are," he said. "Should we start walking home then?"

"We probably should," she said quietly. But she didn't move.

"Yet we aren't," Harry responded.

"We are not," Phoebe nodded. "Unless you're in a hurry to get rid of me."

"Not at all," Harry said. "It's a nice night. I'm pretty content. I know the Dursley's won't be looking for me as long as I'm back before Dudley."

"And what time is that?" she asked.

"Lately? Between one and two," Harry said.

"I can't believe they're okay with that," she responded with a frown.

"I doubt they would be if they even suspected it," Harry said. "But they go to bed early. And sleep like rocks. As long as he's quiet they just assume he's home by his curfew."

"Lucky him. Mine won't go to sleep until I'm home," she said. Harry frowned and looked away, wondering just how his parents would have reacted to him staying out too late. Everything he knew about James told him that his father probably wouldn't have been too concerned as long as he didn't bother them when he got home. But he suspected that his mother would have been less accommodating.

"I guess," he said after a long pause. Phoebe pressed her lips together, as if she understood his hesitance and didn't know how to continue talking without pressing the conversation into an area that they had steered clear of in their other conversations. Harry turned his gaze back to the stars. He heard a commotion from down one of the streets, something that sounded like boys laughing.

"That sounds like Dudley," Phoebe said quietly.

"It does," Harry said, turning his gaze toward where he heard the noise.

"Well maybe we should start heading away then," Phoebe said, sounding slightly concerned. Harry could see Dudley's gang approaching the park as Phoebe slipped off of the picnic table.

Harry observed the gang for a few moments before moving, resisting the urge to reach for his wand. But he relaxed after a moment. Dudley and his friends were clearly parting ways. Piers was slipping off down one of the side streets toward his home. Two others loitered for a moment while Dudley wandered over in the direction of the park. He probably intended to use it as a shortcut to return to Privet drive.

"They're going home," Harry said. Then frowned. "I should at least make it home by the time Dudley does though." Harry slipped off of the picnic table as well. He moved to stand next to Phoebe as Dudley entered the park.

"Let's go," Phoebe said quietly, slipping between Harry and Dudley. Unfortunately they knew they'd be moving in the same direction as his cousin. They started to walk away, but Dudley caught up to them.

"Potter and Mitchell still?" Dudley said. His voice was cold and he clearly didn't like the thought of that. "You can do much better Phoebe."

"Probably," Phoebe said dryly. "But not amongst present company."

"Beat up another ten year old tonight, Big D?" Harry asked.

"None of your damn business," his cousin spat back.

"You didn't lose to a ten-year-old did you?" Harry asked, faking shock.

"Of course not," Dudley spat. "And if you'd like to go a few rounds to prove it."

"Sure," Harry smiled jovially. "Let's duel."

"Very funny," Dudley said. They were leaving the park then. Phoebe's street would come up well before theirs. She stayed close to Harry as they moved. As if he could protect her from his cousin. Of course he could, and would, if he tried anything. But she had no idea just what that protection would entail. And he suspected that she never would.

They continued walking in a tense silence. Harry couldn't help but be amazed at how stilted the air felt just from Dudley's presence. Harry ignored it, though, and just kept walking. At least until he turned a corner and felt the temperature drop.

"Get behind me," he said urgently. Dudley and Phoebe paused, both not seeming to notice the temperature change as quickly as he had.

"What?" Phoebe asked quietly as Harry stepped ahead, his hand pulling his wand from his pocket. Phoebe stared curiously at the stick.

"As if Potter," Dudley said, stepping ahead of Harry and then pausing. His eyes went wide and he started to shake. His head darted around, as if looking for an invisible assailant.

"What's going on?" Phoebe yelled.

"Dudley get back here!" Harry yelled over her, trying to make his tone as forceful as he possibly could. But his cousin ignored him. He did the exact opposite instead and ran forward, in the direction of Privet drive and the dementor that he couldn't see.

It took Harry a moment to recognize it. The creature floated perhaps twenty feet down the road. Frost was forming on the plants and asphalt around it and he wondered just how long it had been waiting for him to enter Privet Drive.

Harry did the only thing he could think of. He chased after his cousin, leaving Phoebe behind without a thought. He held his wand up but hesitated. He couldn't use magic in front of both Dudley and Phoebe. He could probably get away with it with just Dudley. As Dudley obviously knew about the magical world. But he'd have a much harder time explaining Phoebe to the ministry.

Harry knew he wouldn't catch up to Dudley though. His cousin ran square into the dementor. It grabbed him by the throat with a bony hand and lifted Dudley into the air. He wondered just what his cousin was thinking as he floated there, lifted by some unnatural force. Knowing Dudley he probably assumed that Harry was causing it somehow.

But as the dementor leaned toward him, drawing Dudley toward it's hooded cloak, Harry knew that he only had two options left. He could let the dementor take Dudley's soul. It would be over in just a few moments if he did. And, he thought wryly, it might even be an improvement. Or he could save his cousin. For the briefest of moments he wished there was even a choice to make.

"Expecto Patronum!" he yelled. At first just silver mist came out. He cursed to himself, wondering if he'd even be able to come up with a happy enough memory to summon the stag. The mist, though, did distract the dementor enough to lower Dudley to the ground. It fixed its gaze on Harry and started to float over toward him. Harry felt his skin tingle on the back of his neck as the air chilled even more around him.

Harry paused. Images flashed through his mind as he looked for anything that would warm him for the moment. Phoebe's smiling face gave him pause, followed by her laugh as she prattled on about something or another. He smiled and raised his wand once more.

"Expecto Patronum!" he yelled once more. This time the stag emerged from the tip of his wand and charged at the dementor. It turned immediately to flee, Harry let the stag chase it for a moment, at least until he heard a shriek from behind him.

He turned to see another dementor had floated up behind Phoebe. She'd fallen and was sitting on the pavement staring around wildly, looking up at where she could almost sense something was amiss. Harry saw her slump over, her arms sliding around her head, and wheeled his arm around, pointing his wand at the second threat.

He was about to speak the incantation once more when he felt the silver stag rush through him and charge down the new dementor. It crashed into the cloaked figure, causing it to make an unearthly shriek as it turned to flee.

Harry lowered his wand and ran over to Phoebe. He slid down next to her, wincing a bit as the pavement brushed against his jeans. He gasped at her.

"Phoebe are you okay, Phoebe!" her eyes were closed but her breathing was even. After a moment she opened them, blinking up at him.

"What happened?" she asked. "I feel horrible."

"I don't know," Harry lied. She just gazed at him for a moment, shaking her head and struggling to her feet. He stood with her, standing in front of her.

"It was suddenly so cold," she frowned and looked around.

"I know, I felt it too," Harry said. "But it seems to be gone now."

"Yes, it does," she said.

"We should get you home," he said, realizing they were on her street, just doors down from her house. She nodded, as if she thought that was the best idea she'd heard in a while. He started walking with her, toward her house, when he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

"Boy where you going!" Mrs. Figg shrieked. Harry blinked and looked over at her, wondering why she was there.

"I'm taking Phoebe home," Harry said sternly. "Then I'll come back for Dudley."

"Don't leave me alone here!" Mrs. Figg said but Harry ignored her.

"Who's that?" Phoebe asked.

"My neighbor, Mrs. Figg," Harry said. "No idea what she wants." He was walking close to her. She moved shakily and he wanted to make sure he could grab her if she fell again.

"The crazy cat lady?" Phoebe asked, obviously Mrs. Figg's reputation proceeded her.

"That's the one," Harry said.

"What is she doing out here," Phoebe said weakly. They were only a few doors down from her house.

"No idea," Harry said. "Maybe she lost a cat."

"Maybe," Phoebe giggled quietly. She was walking more normally now, and Harry could see some blush coming back to her cheeks. They stopped in front of her yard.

"We're here," he said. She nodded to him.

"Thanks for walking me home," she said quietly. "I feel better now. I wonder what that was."

"Me too," Harry said. "Have some chocolate when you get inside if you have any."

"Why?" she asked carefully.

"I think it'll help. It always warms me up," Harry said. Phoebe looked at him for a moment but nodded.

"Alright I think I will," she said. "Good night Harry."

"Good night, Phoebe," Harry said. She gave him one last smile before walking up the door and entering the house. Harry waited for a moment, before walking back down to where he'd left Dudley and Mrs. Figg.

"Boy, where's your wand!" she barked when he walked up to them. Dudley was laying on the pavement, moaning more loudly than Harry figured was appropriate.

"Here," Harry said, taking it out of his pocket. "You're a witch?"

"A squib!" Mrs. Figg said. "Dementors! Here! Dementors!"

"Yes I saw them," Harry said dryly. He walked up to examine Dudley. "Help me get him onto his feet so I can get him home," Harry said.

"I can't lift him!" Mrs. Figg exclaimed. She looked around nervously, eyes darting up and down the street.

"Either can I," Harry retorted. "Hence why I said help!" The older woman looked like she had no interest in actually doing that. But after a few more minutes of arguing Harry managed to get her to help Dudley up. He hoisted the boy home himself. Mrs. Figg disappearing as they walked up the path to number four.

Everything else happened in a blur. Vernon and Petunia were still awake, and his aunt and uncle were convinced that he'd cursed Dudley. He tried to explain that he'd saved them, but that explanation was interrupted by a letter containing his expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for underage use of magic outside of school. That just confirmed to his relatives that he had cursed Dudley.

So he'd had to argue more and more as more owls flew in. To his surprise, Petunia of all people, correctly knew what dementors were and what they were used for. That helped his argument a bit. And eventually, as Harry was becoming sick of reading letters and having them ripped from his hands, they accepted that he would stay until wizards came to get him for his disciplinary hearing at the ministry.

Vernon seemed thrilled by this, as if there was no doubt in his mind that Harry would wind up in the prison Petunia had referenced. They eventually went to get Dudley into bed while discussing just what evidence they would provide at Harry's disciplinary hearing. He highly doubted they'd even be allowed to attend. But he didn't deem it wise to bring that up.

He followed them silently, ducking into his own bedroom and heading to sleep. He again slept fitfully, and woke far too early. He slipped from the house before anyone could order him to make breakfast for the entire family.

He wandered through the neighborhood, vaguely remembering that one of the letters he'd received had ordered him to stay confined to the house. But he wasn't going to put up with that at the moment. The entire neighborhood already felt like a prison, he wasn't about to confine himself even more.

Harry wandered in the direction of the local school. He knew Phoebe walked her sister to her summer programs most mornings and he wondered if she had that morning. In only a couple of blocks he happily found she had.

"Hey Harry," she called, noticing him. She was wearing dark jeans and the same band t-shirt he'd first encountered her in. She had a black leather purse hung over her shoulder.

"Hey Phoebe, feeling better today?" he asked.

"Yes, but I had another odd thing happen to me this morning!" she said. She slipped her bag from her shoulder and unzipped it. She pulled out a small cream-colored envelope and handed it to him. He looked down at it.

"What's this?" he asked as he took the envelope from her. There were only words written on the face in a thin, precise cursive. _Harry Potter_.

"A woman came up to me after I'd dropped off my sister and asked if I knew you. When I said I did she asked if I could give this to you," Phoebe explained.

"What did she look like?" Harry asked, staring at the envelope in alarm.

"I don't know. Twenties? Brunette? Pretty normal really," Phoebe shrugged. Harry stopped moving and stared around, his eyes going wide. There was no one else on the street, but that thought didn't reassure him at all. First dementors and now….

He let that thought trail off, not wanting to think it could possibly be true. But still, he didn't open the letter. He just kept staring at it.

"You don't think it's anthrax or anything do you?" Phoebe asked carefully. "I mean I thought it was weird. She said she knew you and had to run. I was just going to point her in the direction of your house but she said she had to run immediately."

"I doubt it's anything harmful," Harry lied. He stared at it for a moment while Phoebe shrugged her shoulders.

"Well I thought it was weird. Anyway I'd love to hang out but mom's taking me to London to do some back to school shopping. Maybe this evening at the park?" Phoebe said cheerfully.

"Maybe," Harry responded carefully as she waked past him and back own toward her home. Harry watched her go, wondering how she could be so cheerful.

After she disappeared from sight he stared down at the envelope. Every fiber of his being was telling him to destroy it. Not to open it. It couldn't be anything but a trap, a rouse, some easy way to be rid of him. It had to be cursed. It just had to be.

But as he stared at it, he felt absolutely nothing. It didn't even have the slightest tinge of magic. And while he was sure Lord Voldemort could mask that, or perhaps used some type of potion or powder, he still thought he should sense something from it.

After ten minute of staring he finally caved and opened it slowly. It wasn't sealed, just folded over on itself and the letter came out easily, just one sheet of cream parchment with a few short paragraphs in the same precise cursive.

 _Harry,_

 _I hope this finds you well. I was most alarmed to hear about a dementor attack on you in your muggle neighborhood. That is certainly abnormal behavior from ministry controlled creatures. I wonder if perhaps they've marked you in the last few years. Seeking you out so far from Azkaban is worrisome._

 _I am sure you are wondering just who could have sent them. I assure you if I knew, I would tell you. And I assure you that I was not responsible. Whatever sway I had with dementors during my last life I do not seem to possess anymore._

 _But I don't wish to alarm you any more than I'm sure you already are. I have heard about your ministry hearing and do sincerely wish you the best of luck. After, if you would like, I will be waiting in Highbury Fields near the Boer War memorial. I think we have much to discuss. I promise that I will be alone and that no harm will come to you if you decide to visit._

 _I do sincerely hope you enjoy the rest of your summer._

 _Yours,_

 _LV._

Harry read it ten times. It confirmed all of his worst fears. Voldemort had been in Little Whinging. He pauses for a moment and then thought again. Voldemort had been in Little Whinging. And she'd approached and spoken to the only friend he'd had during the summer months. She could have killed him, or killed her, at any moment!

And her speculation about the dementors marking him. Was that some sort of veiled threat? Was she just telling him that she'd send more and more of the creatures after him. Or was she being honest? Harry frowned, thinking this was all too much for him.

He knew he needed to send the letter to Dumbledore, or Sirius, or anyone. Someone had to know that she'd been so close to him. So close that she could have attacked him easily. Whatever enchantments were limiting him to Privet drive clearly weren't working.

He paused and read the letter once more. Then frowned.

Her tone was different than what he'd received. The letters from his friends about his hearing had seemed angry. They'd told him to stay inside, to stay low, to not do anything stupid. Yet the one in his hands just wished him well.

And, he thought, she could have killed him. She could have killed Phoebe. She could have done quite a lot of damage. But she hadn't. She'd given the letter to someone that she must have observed he had contact with. That thought sent a shiver up his spine. Just how long had she been spying on him to know that Phoebe could get him the letter?

Still, she hadn't harmed the girl. Or him. Or even made any attempt to. He folded the letter in half and tucked it into a pocket. He wouldn't go see her in London after his hearing. He didn't even know where that park was. Or if he'd even be allowed alone in London. For some reason he doubted it. And he wasn't going to walk into a trap, no matter what she said.

But it still gave him pause. Why would she even bother sending it then? He shook his head and walked back to Privet drive, thinking that perhaps requesting himself into the house wasn't the worst idea anyone could have had. At the very least his summer assignments were done and he figured he could see if he could figure out how to use Dudley's old video game systems to pass the time.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Chapter 5

Voldemort stood at the mouth of the cave, ignoring the surf that kicked up out of the sea and washed over her leather boots. She shifted her shoulders slightly, adjusting the small pack she'd slung over herself before setting out to the cave. After a few steps she took a deep breath and approached the magical barrier that blocked the entrance to the cave. As far as she could tell, the cave had not been disturbed since she'd left the Black elf inside.

She reached down to pull out the knife she'd clipped into her boot. She unfolded it and continued her examination of the wall. The charms all seemed to still be in place. She was rather proud of this door. It was simple, but tricky enough that she suspected it would have confused anyone that tried to break the magic. The door was clearly calling for blood, she'd made that much obvious.

She smirked as she pressed the blade of the knife into her thumb, ignoring the flare of pain as her skin gave way to the cold steel. She brushed her thumb over the wall in front of her and didn't even pay attention as the wall glowed and dissolved into a door. Instead she folded the knife closed and leaned down to clip it back into her boot, before healing the wound on her thumb.

The clever bit of the trap wasn't so much that blood was needed to open the door, but instead that any wound inflicted by magic would not open the door. She'd learned quite quickly that it was very uncommon for most witches or wizards to carry around any type of muggle weaponry.

The door would sense any magical blemish in the blood, the kind that even just momentary contact with a blade charmed to never lose its edge could show. And if that were the case, the door would simply react as if it needed more. Hopefully, the wizard would assume one drop of blood wasn't enough to counteract the enchantment, and would continue to feed the enchantment. She'd designed it to be little more than a trick to exploit the psychological blind spots of most wizards. And as of now, it looked like it had worked.

She stepped into the cave, keeping her wand in hand although knowing that she shouldn't likely need it. Then again, she certainly hadn't expected that her ring would be gone from her mother's home. There hadn't been any signs of an intruder there. But this place was certainly much harder to find. It would take a good deal of digging to even figure out she'd been here as a child.

Of course the orphanage probably had records of what she'd done at this seaside cave. But still, those boys had deserved a worse fate than being hung over the ledge above the rocks. The matron hadn't seen it that way. But the matron had never believed her as a child. She'd never quite understood why at first.

She'd always been honest. But her peers had just been better at convincing the adults otherwise. So she'd started playing their game. And found out she was quite a bit better at it than they were. The matron, though, always seemed to see right through her. And Voldemort remembered how happy she looked when she left for Hogwarts the first time and her disappointment whenever she returned.

She stepped up to the lake that made up the majority of the inside of the cave. The water was perfectly still and dark. There was no hint of the corpses that infested it, ready to wake and attack if anything were to disturb the water. Anything, of course, included her, so she make sure to always keep a couple of steps away from the ledge, preferring to avoid that inconvenience for the moment.

She stared around the cave for a few moments, looking for any sign that anything was out of place. But it was all exactly as she remembered leaving it. And the only magic she could sense inside was a mixture of her own power and the traps she'd left. Still, she paused for a moment to make sure, knowing that she had no reason to rush. Either the locket would be in the basin on the island in the middle of the lake, or it wouldn't be. So given that bit of knowledge, she knew there was no reason to walk into a trap.

She reached out toward where she knew the invisible boat rested, her hand wrapping around the chain without much of an issue as she pulled it toward her. When she heard it impact against the side rock bed she stepped into it and stood as it pulled her toward the island basin.

Voldemort spent the first few moments of the trip staring at the water around her. There were no signs of the Inferi she'd left behind. But she'd intended for it to appear that way. She let the smug satisfaction that her spell had apparently lasted nearly two decades and two bodies fill her for the briefest of moments, before shifting her focus back to the task at hand and the basin on the island before her.

She stepped off onto it once the boat stopped moving. She paused for a moment and frowned down at it. She could sense absolutely nothing from the basin. In her last life, she would have sworn that her horcruxes emanated a sort of power she could feel when they were nearby. She'd always assumed she'd know immediately if they were lost. Yet she'd felt nothing at all in the Gaunt shack, and she felt nothing at all here.

She took a deep breath though. She'd felt nothing at all in the Riddle House when the diadem had ben near her. So perhaps she'd hallucinated it all. Perhaps she'd just wanted to feel something from the objects that supposedly contained a bit of herself. Maybe she'd just been sentimental and silly when she thought she felt something from them.

Regardless, she stepped up to the basin and stared down into it. The emerald green potion was perfectly calm, she stared down at it for a moment before reaching for the shell she'd turned into a makeshift spoon. She swirled the emerald liquid around and stared down into it. The potion wouldn't part enough for her to see the locket.

Lord Voldemort sighed, annoyed she didn't bring an elf or a goblin this time. Anything to prevent her from what she was about to have to attempt. Still she thought she could counter it readily enough, and she wouldn't have to drink all of it. No, she would only have to drink enough so that she could see the locket inside. Still, it wasn't anything she'd ever thought he'd have to try. But she'd researched the potion before she made it and charmed it.

Of course, she thought wryly, had she simply made it so she could retrieve the items she wouldn't have to go through with this. But putting any loophole into such a charm weakened it, and she hadn't wanted anyone to have a workaround. Even if she hadn't been able to think of one, that did not preclude another from being able to do so.

She shrugged the bag off of her shoulder and set it down near the basin. She kneeled next to it and opened it slowly. She took out three canteens she'd filled with water before setting out and opened each one slowly, placing them down next to the basin.

Next she brought the shell full of potion toward her lips. But she paused and looked around the cave for a moment, feeling like she was forgetting something. She thought long and hard about what that could be and then it clicked in her head. She reached for her wand and placed it down on the ground a few feet away from the basin. She then unhooked the knife from her boot once more and placed it near her wand.

There was no point, she thought, in drinking a potion designed like the emerald concoction before her while one had a weapon on themselves.

She stepped back up to the basin and refilled the shell with potion. She took a deep breath and drank, closing her eyes as she did. At first, she just shivered. She would have sworn the temperature in the cave dropped twenty degrees. But that was the only side-effect.

She knew that wouldn't last though. She knew if she waited the effects would come regardless. So instead she scooped and drank more. Her throat burning almost immediately as the liquid filled her mouth. Still she leaned over the basin and took another mouthful.

Pain came with her third sip. It seared through her stomach, as if she was being split open. She winced and braced herself against the basin, wondering if it would fade, or if she would have to right through it. She turned her gaze to the emerald liquid and tried to brush some aside to see the bottom of the basin, but she couldn't move enough of the liquid to see the locket.

She reached down and grabbed one of the canteens. She took two full mouthfuls of water, nearly gagging it up as she did so. Her body did not like the mixture of the two. But it cooled her throat, and settled her stomach. Still, she knew that she had a certain amount of time before the basin would refill. So she took another mouthful of potion.

She could hear the sirens then. Their loud, monotonous wail piercing through everything. Her first instinct was to run, to get to shelter, to hide. But there was not anywhere where she could hide. And she didn't need to, she knew. Because the sirens were only her head. She forced another mouthful down.

The ground rumbled, then. Except it didn't. She knew it didn't. She took more water to try to calm herself. But the cave kept rumbling. The barrage seeming to grow stronger and stronger as it did. The sensations were so intense she knew nothing could possibly survive whatever was hitting the cave.

Except that nothing was hitting the cave. She knew better. She took a deep breath and took another mouthful.

The cave settled after a moment. But then she heard two loud cracks. They sounded like people apparating, but she knew that was impossible. No, they were a different sound entirely. Her whole body tensed as they sounded through the cave.

She wanted to look left, to see what she knew would be to her left. But she couldn't. She knew she couldn't. Instead she took one more filling of potion.

A third crack sounded through the cave. Again, she felt something rip through her midsection. A primordial fear rushed through her mind. No, she thought to herself, not her, anything but her. Anything at all. She looked down to see the blood pooling on the front of her outfit.

But she pulled her gaze back to the basin and filled the shell once more. As she did she saw the locket. She splashed the potion around, her arm shaking and dropping the shell off the side of the basin. She'd gotten the information she came for.

She collapsed against the side of the basin. She reached for a canteen but ended up just knocking it over, the water spilling onto the dirt. She moved toward it, desperate to save the precious liquid. But as she did she remembered there was more.

On her second attempt her motions were more precise. She pulled the canteen to her. Still, she spilled more than she got into her mouth. But what she did was cool and tasted like life. She drank until it was gone, laying on her side next to the basin, and waiting for coherent thought to flush back to her.

It took about five minutes for her to recover. Eventually, she sat up, leaning against the basin. She didn't need to look at it again to confirm what she feared. Someone had replaced the locket inside.

She found that slightly odd, though. As they hadn't replaced the ring, why would they have swapped the locket out for another? And clearly one that looked nothing like the one she'd left there. She frowned to herself and stood, turning her attention back to the already refilled basin.

She debated if she should actually try to take it. But if someone had left something in her trap, it had to be a trap as well. There was no purpose for her to take it. She already got the information she needed, there was no need to fall into someone else's trap.

So instead of trying to retrieve the false locket, she simply walked back to the bridge, finding her legs a bit shakier than they probably should have been. But she ignored that for now, and focused on shaking the memories out of her head. Those she really didn't want to linger on for any longer than necessary.

The boat started its journey back as soon as she stepped into it. She sat slowly and looked into the murky water, trying to clear her head enough to think. By the time she stepped off of the boat she was able to focus more.

It couldn't be too hard to figure out, she knew. Very few people actually knew the location of this cave. The muggle boys had to be, at best, extremely old by this point, and she doubted they'd have been very interested in wandering into the old location. Or even capable of finding it again, much less getting through the traps had they located it. No, she dismissed them immediately, if they'd even managed to enter the cave, they'd have joined the zombies in the water.

She'd shown no other person. She knew that immediately. And she'd made sure the matron who'd taken the orphans on that trip was long dead before she'd even considered using this spot as a trap. The only other living creature she'd brought inside was Black's familial elf. She'd left that wretched creature to die on the basin. There was no way it had managed to escape from the trap.

She pricked her finger with the knife again as she approached the mouth of the cave, once more using her blood to open the magically sealed door. She stepped out into the brisk night air and stared down at the surf below her.

How, she thought, could the elf have gotten out? It hit her almost immediately. Elf magic, she knew, wasn't quite the same as human magic. She had no idea if the charms she'd placed on the cave would prevent the elf from leaving. Or coming back. She'd assumed her defenses would have been stout enough, but it was something she'd never bothered to experiment with.

Still, she knew there was only one way she'd be able to find out for sure. She'd have to find the elf and question it. She closed her eyes, remembering where the Black family lived, remembering the specific London street in the posh neighborhood.

Moments later she let her magic shove her through space, through reality, though everything, and with a loud pop she reappeared on the street in London.

A middle aged man jumped away from her as she appeared. He wore exercise clothing and was clearly out for a late evening jog. He looked both lost in thought and startled as he avoided her muttering an apology breathily as he passed. She ignored him and instead stared up at the buildings.

She laughed aloud to herself as she stared at the building, letting her eyes slide over it again and again to make sure she was seeing it right. The buildings were numbered normally, except that they skipped twelve.

She'd been inside twelve, she'd dined at twelve, she'd had long discussions with the Black Matriarch. She knew the house should be there. But it wasn't. It clearly wasn't. And her mind went fuzzy every time she thought about it, or tried to think of its specific location.

Sirius Black, she knew immediately, had turned the house over to the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore's resistance organization must be using it as a safe house, perhaps even basing their operations out of it. Dumbledore or Sirius himself must be the secret keepers.

She sighed, not bothering to stifle her annoyance at that fact, already attempting to think of ways around it. She knew that Walburga Black had written Sirius out of her will after he'd abandoned the family. The house might not truly belong to him. But with Bellatrix in prison, guilty of torture, and Regulus dead, he probably was the closest thing to an heir that existed.

Perhaps, if she could somehow free Bellatrix from Azkaban and infiltrate the ministry enough to get her a pardon, she could perhaps work around the proper ownership of the house. Doing so may nullify any enchantments put on it by a previous owner. But Dumbledore would have likely anticipated that. Her best bet would be to do it all at once. To have the pardon set up in a way where she could act immediately, to hope that surprise would catch them off guard.

But, she knew, those plans would have to wait. She was nowhere near ready to even get her imprisoned followers out of Azkaban. In fact, she wasn't even sure if that was exactly the route she wanted to go as of yet.

She knew that, eventually, she'd need all the loyal supporters she could get. And she knew that every day she hesitated was another day where she could lose their support, supposing news of her possible return had reached them.

She also knew that springing multiple Death Eaters from Azkaban would alert the ministry to the fact that she was truly returned. So far they seemed content with burying their heads in the sand and denying everything. And she saw no reason to alert them otherwise when she could continue to act in the shadows.

No, she knew she'd have to time everything perfectly. And she knew she'd have to set other plans into motion before she freed her imprisoned servants. She turned to walk away from the Black home, choosing to lose herself in London for the rest of the night, to see if perhaps that would help her think.

It had been a whirlwind ten days for Harry. He barely remembered what happened between the Dementor attack and his disciplinary hearing. Once the order showed up to help him relocated to Sirius's house.

At first, the flight to Grimmauld Place had amused him. At least it has amused him until he was soaked to the bone and shivering on his broom and wondering when the misery would end. The young Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, had voiced how he felt, mixed with a disbelief that Voldemort would try anything against their band.

Harry didn't have the heart to mention that Voldemort had been in Surrey. He wasn't sure they'd even believe him. Supposedly they'd had people tracking him all summer. If they hadn't seen anything there was no reason to believe that they would believe him if he said otherwise.

Of course he had the letter from her still, he wanted to mention that. But he was afraid they wouldn't believe him. He'd been totally isolated for the summer, what would he do if they thought it was just some plea for attention?

None of the adults, anyway, seemed to be that interested in talking to him. In fact, once the novelty of being on a broom again wore off, he felt just as isolated as he had at Privet Drive.

He'd hopped that once they'd arrived at their destination, things would change. And he was severely disappointed when they did not. Sure, it was nice to be around Hermione and Ron again, but past one night of plotting just who could have sent Dementors at him, with the obvious conclusion being it must have been Voldemort being immediately drawn, the conversation had shifted back to school and homework.

Harry didn't have the heart to participate in those conversations. And he couldn't bring himself to tell them that Voldemort had contacted him. No. He knew he needed to talk to Dumledore about that. He knew Dumbledore would be the only one who could shed light onto her intentions.

But Dumbledore never came. Instead Harry just found himself spending days locked in the old house, being bustled from one room to another by Mrs. Weasley and helping clean up the place. Sirius tried to be jovial and seeing his godfather certainly helped his mood. But he couldn't get past the feeling that they all were not telling him something.

It wasn't until the night before his hearing that he managed to get anything out of them. And it was only through prying Sirius. And even then, Mrs. Weasley prevented Sirius from telling them anything, except that they believed Lord Voldemort was looking for some type of weapon that she did not have the last time around.

But they wouldn't give him any information on what that could be. Or any information on what she'd been doing for the last month. In fact, he thought, it seemed like they didn't really have a good idea of that themselves. Their focus seemed to be far more on convincing the ministry and the populace that Voldemort had returned.

Before Harry was able to comment on any of that, though, Mrs. Weasley had sent them to bed. Harry's anger almost boiled over at that. He wanted to scream at them. He wanted to yell about the absurdity of all of it. But he didn't. He just took a deep breath and obeyed, suddenly missing his late night rendezvous with Phoebe Mitchell.

He'd told Ron about her, briefly, when discussing his summer. His friend had been more interested in how attractive she was than Harry had really wanted to talk about. Harry himself had been more amused by his actually having a friend at Privet Drive, but even now that was taken from him.

He knew though, that he should feel better about it all. That it wasn't Ron or Hermione's fault he was miserable. He knew he needed to just get back to Hogwarts and talk to Dumbledore, and after that point, he'd be okay.

He slept fitfully the night before the hearing. And then he spent the morning having everyone tell him that he would be fine, and that there was no possible way that the ministry could actually expel him for saving his own life. By the eighth time he heard that line, he had to fight back the urge to snap that if that was the case, then he wouldn't even be having the hearing.

Mrs. Weasley rushed him to breakfast the next morning so he could eat before Mr. Weasley rushed him off to the ministry. They'd barely gotten into Mr. Weasley's office when they found up the ministry had changed the time and location of his hearing.

The rest of the day was a blur for Harry. He couldn't keep up with the officials at the hearing. Dumbledore himself strode in a few seconds late and more or less took over the proceedings for him. But Dumbledore didn't look at him the entire time. He barely even acknowledged his presence. Harry stared at him, barely paying attention to the trial after Dumbledore showed.

Twice he had to be reminded by a frog-like woman near Minister Fudge that he was required to answer a question. And twice he answered. He was focused entirely on Dumbledore when the hearing ended. He could see, out of the corner of his eyes, that most of the witches and wizards attending were voting that he was innocent. Yet no relief rushed through him as that realization hit him. Instead he just focused on Dumbledore, thinking as hard as he could, hoping that that would make the Headmaster look at him.

It didn't.

Instead, Dumledore was gone almost as soon as the hearing ended. People started to filter out, and as none of them were paying any attention to Harry. He waited for a few moments, before just standing and walking out.

Mr. Weasley met him outside and asked concerned questions about his hearing. Harry answered him, trying to not focus on how Dumbledore ignored him. He could sense that Mr. Weasley knew he was distracted, and knew that he didn't really want to talk about it. So the Weasley patriarch took him back to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

And there, it simply began again. As soon as he entered the room, Mrs. Weasley found him and shuffled him from one task to another, cleaning more useless objects out of rooms, fighting the elf Kreacher for some of the possessions while simultaneously hoping that nothing would curse them in the process.

But it all felt suddenly claustrophobic to Harry. No matter where he was in the house he couldn't breathe. For a moment he wondered if he'd touched something with an asphyxiation hex on it. That seemed like the kind of absurd thing that the Black Family would possess.

But it didn't take him long to realize that it wasn't any sort of magical affliction on him. He stood silently for a few moments before muttering, mostly to himself.

"I need to get a drink," he said.

"Hurry back, mate," Ron responded. "I'm going to need a hand with these curtains."

"Will do," Harry said. He stepped from the room he Ron and Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister, were cleaning and into the atrium. He wasn't paying attention to where he walked and suddenly his foot found something less than solid and he slipped, catching himself against the wall. A squeal of pain from the ground brought his eyes to the ground.

The elf, Kreacher, was laying there, cuddled close to a large golden locket that Harry had tried to throw out earlier. It squealed at him and quickly slunk out toward the kitchen, forgetting the locket in his haste. Harry sighed and picked it up off of the ground, tucking it into his pocket and looking toward the kitchen.

Knowing the elf was in the kitchen put a damper on his plan to get some water. He paused, sighing, and turned, fully intending to return to help Ron detox the curtains, but as he turned, his gaze passed the front door. He paused, staring at it for just a moment. Before stepping through and into London.

It was a cool afternoon. The lingering scent of rain in the air, a few puddles lining the streets. He stepped down to the street and gazed around, not really knowing where he was, or where he'd go. He looked left, then right, then left, before starting to his right, walking down the street, surprised by how much lighter he felt in the fresh air.

Harry kept up a brisk pace as he walked, not sure of where he was going, and not really caring. His first, and only, instinct was to get as far away from Grimmauld place as he possibly could.

He'd go back, he knew. He'd have to. Although he did idly wonder if he couldn't sneak into another room at the Leaky Cauldron and spend the rest of his summer there. But he doubted the adults would tolerate that. And he knew he'd be in a great deal of trouble when they finally did locate him.

Harry ducked down one street and then another and another, until he was sufficiently lost. That thought, though amused him more than it concerned him. So he just kept walking through the city, enjoying the hustle and bustle of neighborhood life happening around him. Some people smiled politely at him as he passed, and he returned it, sometimes with a brief hello.

There was no sign of any other wizard, or anyone following him or looking for him. That thought amused him as well. He figured they had to realize he wasn't in the house by now. He wondered if Ron or Hermione questioned it, or if Mrs. Weasley just couldn't keep tabs on him.

Either way he kept walking until he saw a sign that gave him pause. It wasn't much of a sign, really, just a standard street sign with names of places and arrows pointing to their approximate destination. He read the name of one destination twice, before biting his bottom lip and walking off in that direction.

Highbury Fields was rather larger than he'd expected it to be. He could see smoke billowing from the park, and could smell grilling. It made his stomach rumble even from afar. He almost instantly regretting not eating more of his breakfast, or trying to con Mrs. Weasley into a lunch before helping clean.

He wondered if he'd even notice the war memorial. For some reason he doubted it. But still, he found himself joining the queue of people wandering around the ring road around the park.

After not too long he found himself at the south end, staring at a large monument. It had to be the war memorial, he knew, but he didn't see her anywhere near it. He frowned and spent a few moments just looking at the memorial, before he continued walking north. In his mind, he figured he'd make one loop around the park, and then start tracing his way back to Grimmauld Place.

Those thoughts faded, though, as fifty feet north he saw her. She was relaxing on a bench, a picnic basket next to her. She was dressed perfectly normally, in black boots, blue jeans, and a white collared blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a pristine bun, not a strand of it remotely out of place.

She turned to rifle through the basket, looking momentarily annoyed as Harry watched from a distance. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to flee, to run away, to be nowhere near her. She was nothing but danger and he knew nothing good would come from talking to her.

But then she looked up and saw him. Her expression changed instantly. Her eyes lit up her entire face and pearly white teeth shined at him. He would have sworn her smile was infectious, as soon as it was on her face he could feel his own forming on his. Even from afar he could have sworn he could see her one dimple clearly. She didn't move, though, instead she just smiled at him, clearly waiting for him to come to her.

He hesitated. But eventually, curiosity won. And he walked over toward her bench, wondering to himself if he was walking to his death. But she only smiled as he approached, looking genuinely happy to see him.

"Hello Harry," she said when he stepped up next to the bench. He paused, standing a few feet away from her, afraid to approach any further. When he said nothing, she continued. "I heard that your hearing went well today. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, more out of reflex than thought. He paused a few feet away from her and just stared. She turned to the picnic basket and opened it, rummaging around.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I brought sandwiches from a nearby café."

"No," Harry said quickly, ignoring his stomach. He wasn't foolish enough to eat food served to him by Lord Voldemort.

"Oh," she frowned, looking momentarily disappointed. "Well do you mind if I eat? I was waiting for you for quite a while and I am quite famished."

"Go ahead," Harry said. She smiled at him once more, before reaching into the basket and pulling out a foil wrapped sandwich. She unwrapped it quickly before taking a bite out of it. After a moment she turned her gaze to meet his.

"Are you going to sit down or stare awkwardly at me?" she asked. Harry frowned but knew that he would probably just attract attention to him if he kept just standing in the path of the park. So he obeyed and moved to sit next to her on the bench, with the picnic basket between them.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly, after a moment. She just kept eating her sandwich, taking a moment to compose her response.

"Why did you come?" she countered quietly. She reached back into the picnic basket and pulled a full pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. She reached back in with the glasses and pulled them out filled with ice cubes. She poured the lemonade into the glasses and replaced the pitcher. Harry realized the basket must have been charmed, as it barely looked large enough to hold the pitcher itself much less the food or glasses.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just didn't want to be inside. So I left. I hadn't meant to come here. But all of a sudden there here I was."

"I see," she said. "You know it's rude to keep a lady waiting. Thirsty?" she offered him one of the glasses of lemonade, practically placing it in his hand. He took it, staring down at her hand as he did. Her nails were well kept and unpainted. He looked away from her and did nothing more than sniffed at the drink, knowing there was no way he would actually take a sip from it.

"I thought you were a lord," he countered. She laughed aloud as he did.

"Touché," she said, bringing the lemonade to her lips and sipping it.

"So why are you doing this?" Harry asked.

"I didn't poison it, you know," she said. "The food or the drink. And I brought more things too. Cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs."

"Why would I believe you?" Harry scoffed.

"I give you my word, Harry Potter, that I will not make any attempt to harm you while you are in my company. I swear it to you," Lord Voldemort said, her expression stoic, her tone serious. And, for some reason, Harry believed her. But he knew that was nothing but folly.

"I can't trust you," he said. "You've tried to kill me. Your followers have tried to kill me. You killed my parents. How could I ever trust you?"

"You're right to not," she sighed.

"And you're not offering me anything else," Harry said.

"What would you like?" Lord Voldemort asked, tilting her head to look at him.

"I want to know why," Harry said. He didn't have to ask for any more specifics. She knew exactly what he was referring to.

"Dumbledore never told you?" she asked. "He certainly knew. He was there."

"He was there when you killed my parents?" Harry accused.

"No," she shook her head. "Not that."

"Then what did he know?" Harry spat. Lord Voldemort looked at him for a moment, appraisingly, before taking a sip of her lemonade.

"There was a prophecy made about us, shortly before your birth. A prophecy that linked us together," Voldemort explained.

"A prophecy?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Surely you don't expect me to believe that."

"Why wouldn't you?" Voldemort asked. "You yourself heard this same woman make a prophecy about me. If my men are to be believed, at least."

"Professor Trelawney made it?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Voldemort said. "One of my followers overheard it the night she was interviewing for the divination position at Hogwarts."

"What did it say?" Harry grit his teeth, his hands clutching the glass of lemonade so hard he half expected that it would shatter. Voldemort paused before closing her eyes and reciting.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied her. Born as the seventh month dies," Voldemort said. Finishing her lemonade and replacing the glass in the picnic basket.

"That's it?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure there was more. But Severus was discovered and did not hear the rest of it," Voldemort said.

"Severus Snape?" Harry asked.

"Severus Snape," Voldemort affirmed.

"Severus Snape told you to murder my parents?" Harry asked, sounding shocked.

"Not quite," Voldemort responded. "Severus Snape informed me that the Potters had thrice defied me. And that they were having a son. And then you were born as the seventh month died. And he was sure of it."

"So you rushed off to kill me," Harry said, fighting the urge to run. Lord Voldemort shook her head.

"No. I never believed in prophecy, Harry," Voldemort said.

"Then why?" Harry asked.

"Snape made me appear weak. He implied that I was afraid of fighting James Potter. That I wanted nothing to do with them after they'd bested me at Brecon. And he'd spread rumors that I was afraid of attacking the Potters. He let slip that I knew they were at Godric's Hallow through Pettigrew. There were murmurs that maybe he was right," Voldemort explained. Harry blinked. He immediately wanted to ask about Brecon. His parents had beaten her? No one had never mentioned that.

But still, he'd heard their death in his head when the dementors were around. It hadn't seemed like they were capable of besting her. She'd made quick work of them. He winced at the thought.

"So you went to murder them," Harry said.

"Yes," Voldemort said. "I intended to murder Snape too. I knew he was spying on your home, even though he didn't know the exact location. I'd have needed to make an example of him anyway. And killing James Potter was such a waste."

"What?" Harry laughed in shock.

"Well Snape was trying to undermine me. That can't be tolerated," Voldemort said simply.

"No, about my father," Harry snapped back.

"Ah," she sighed. "That's more difficult. I…well… I liked your father, Harry. James Potter, really all of the real marauders, were honorable and valiant soldiers. I respected them. James was brash, and arrogant and one of the best opponents I'd faced. I had hoped when I convinced Pettigrew to join me that perhaps I would also be able to convince James, Sirius, and Remus as well. Of course I knew killing one of them would permanently close that door."

"My father would have never joined you," Harry said.

"Perhaps not," she said. "It's a moot point anyway."

"But why would Snape do that?" Harry asked.

"Snape wanted your mother," Voldemort responded quietly. "He was always infatuated with your mother."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Since he was a boy. He'd always wanted Lily Evans. He was too stupid, or too arrogant, or perhaps simply too naive to figure out how to actually woo her. Of course, he was incapable of thinking of her as anything more than a possession. So he never really had a chance," Voldemort said.

"Snape and my mother?" Harry blinked.

"Indeed," Voldemort said. "I'm sure that's what pushed him to Dumbledore. I doubt he'd ever forgive me for that. No matter how much he insists otherwise."

"You know?" Harry gasped, before realizing the implication of what he'd just said.

"Of course I know," Voldemort laughed. "As is he still has some uses to me. But I'm not a total fool, Harry."

"So you killed my parents because of Snape and some prophecy," Harry scoffed.

"Yes," Voldemort said.

"A prophecy that says I have the power to vanquish you," Harry said, swallowing hard as he spoke.

"Yes," Voldemort said.

"You're going to kill me so I can't kill you," Harry said, sounding alarmed. To his surprise, Voldemort laughed.

"No," Voldemort responded.

"But the prophecy," Harry still sounded alarmed.

"As far as I'm concerned the prophecy is fulfilled," Voldemort said.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I was vanquished. And it specifically said vanquished, not killed. I spent fifteen years vanquished. Granted it was only by my own prodigious skill that I did not die. But the letter of the prophecy did indeed happen," Voldemort said. Harry paused and looked at her.

"But I didn't do anything," he frowned.

"It didn't say we'd have an epic duel, Harry," Voldemort teased. "Either way, I went looking for someone born to specific parents as the seventh month died. And I was vanquished as a result."

"So why don't you want to kill me now?" Harry asked.

"Every time I try it ends poorly for me," Voldemort said. "The best course of action seems to be not to try."

"What if I try to kill you?" Harry asked with more bravado than he thought he'd have been able to muster.

"Then I will react in kind," she responded dryly.

"So why send me that letter? Why invite me here?" Harry asked. "Seems like you could have totally ignored me with the same result."

"And I would have had you not been attacked by the dementors," Voldemort admitted. "But I think that perhaps it is best if I am open with you."

"Everyone is convinced you sent the dementors after me," Harry sighed.

"Well the ministry would never admit to that as it would be admitting I am back and you are not crazy," Voldemort said. "But I suspect that's what Dumbldore said at your hearing?"

"Yes," Harry said. "He said you used them in the past."

"I did," she admitted.

"And yet I'm supposed to believe you didn't utilize them again?" Harry scoffed.

"You can believe whatever you would like, Harry," Voldemort said. "But I assure you, if I still had any sway over the dementors of Azkaban, I'd have more followers than I currently do."

"If you freed all your followers the ministry would know you're back," Harry countered. "And you're trying to avoid that."

"You catch on quickly," Voldemort laughed. "But still, I didn't send dementors after you. Honestly, if I was going to send a dark creature after you I think I'd come up with something better than one you have a history of trumping."

"That's a good point," Harry sighed. "Was it maybe one of your followers?"

"I doubt it. Same boat, I think if they could have gotten their friends out of Azkaban, they would have," Voldemort said. Harry paused for a moment, looking down at his untouched lemonade. She must have charmed the glass, as it was still exactly as cold as when she'd handed it to him.

"Would you even tell me if you knew?" Harry asked.

"Possibly," Voldemort said. "It would depend on who it was that sent it. More than likely I would just kill them." Her tone was passive, almost business-like.

"That's comforting," Harry said dryly. Voldemort didn't comment. Harry took a moment to look around the park, scanning to see if any familiar face would show up. He must have been quieter for longer than he thought, because eventually she broke the silence.

"Something bothering you?" she asked, before chuckling to herself. "Aside from myself, of course." At first, Harry wasn't going to answer her. But the more he thought about it, the more he decided there wasn't really any reason to not be honest with her with his current thoughts.

"I was just wondering if they were looking for me yet," Harry said quietly.

"Oh I'm sure they are," Voldemort responded.

"You're not afraid of Aurors showing up?" Harry asked.

"No," Voldemort responded with a dimpled smile.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"You can't expect me to tell you all of my secrets can you?" Voldemort teased. Harry rolled his eyes and tensed, gnashing his teeth together.

"Well you haven't really told me any of your secrets, have you? The bit about my parents didn't seem to be overly secret in your circles. And if I believe you, you don't actually know anything about the dementors," Harry said.

"Would that make you trust me?" Voldemort asked, an eyebrow raised, "if I told you a secret?" Her eyes flashed playfully at him. Harry looked away, fighting the urge to snap at her.

"No," he said.

"Well I'm still intrigued, Harry Potter," she smiled at him. "What type of secret would you even want to know?" Harry turned his gaze to her as she finished speaking. It was her turn to look away, to observe the park.

He had no idea, conceivably, what he even wanted to ask her. He didn't even really want to be in that park any longer. He suspected if he got up and walked away, she would let him. But would that just be to follow him? Was she hoping to use him as a way to find their headquarters? Was the entire thing just an elaborate trap because she knew he'd be there?

But it couldn't be. They'd told him how the charm on the house worked. She could walk right up to the door and not see it. She couldn't get in unless Dumbledore told her the secret, they'd said. It wouldn't matter if she followed him. He focused on that thought, using it to calm himself.

"What would I like to know?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes," she responded, staring at him patiently. He pressed his lips together and thought about that for a few moments. Nothing really came up. At least nothing that he thought she'd share with him. Until one stray thought flashed through his head.

"What's your name?" he asked. Again, her dark eyes flashed playfully, and he cut her off before she could speak. "And don't say Lord Voldemort. I know you weren't born Lord Voldemort. I'm not an idiot. What's on the birth certificate?"

"Emily Mary Riddle," she said quietly.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," she affirmed.

"Emily?" he said carefully, as if testing it. She just nodded again.

"Yes I was Head Girl in my seventh year of Hogwarts, you can check _Hogwarts, A History_. Not too hard to pick me out of the lineup. The only Slytherin Head from the forties," she said.

"Any meaning behind it?" Harry asked. Emily just smiled at him.

"I was born in an orphanage and my mother died giving birth to me. I suspect the matron just picked randomly," she said. Harry stared for a moment. Something screamed at him that that wasn't the truth. But he didn't comment further. For a moment, he thought she was going to say more. But then she stood and picked up the picnic basket.

"Leaving?" he asked, surprised by her sudden movement.

"Yes," she said. "Unfortunately I have a prior engagement. And I suspect if you don't get back soon they'll never let you out again."

"I don't think they will anyway," Harry said.

"Perhaps not," Emily said as she started to walk away from him. "But if you need anything, and it is within my power to help, I will be willing to see what I can do."

"How would I even contact you?" Harry laughed. He had absolutely no intention of doing so, but the absurdity of her offer surprised him.

"You know my name, Harry Potter, and I've heard you have a talented owl. I'm sure you'll figure it out." And then, with a loud pop she was gone, apparating away in broad daylight in the middle of a muggle park. Harry jumped, and looked around at all of the Muggles milling around. None of them, he noted, seemed even bothered by the noise as they went about their days.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit

Chapter Six

Harry stood outside the entrance to Grimmauld place, staring up at the door. He'd been standing there for the last five minutes, half expecting someone to come bursting out from the house to grab him. But no one did.

He knew that at some point he would have to open up the door. And he knew the longer that he took to do so, the worse it would be when he finally did.. He could already hear Mrs. Weasley lecturing him in his head. And he wasn't looking forward to hearing it for real. And it certainly didn't help that he knew as soon as Mrs. Weasley was done, he'd get the same lecture from Hermione.

Still, he thought wryly, Sirius probably wouldn't lecture him. In fact, he has a sneaking suspicion that his Godfather would be proud of him for sneaking away.

He also knew Ron would find the entire escapade amusing, and probably ask for details of every step he took. Which, Harry knew, would be refreshing, but it would also mean that he would have to think of a story to tell Ron. Although that would hinge on whether or not Ron was upset that he'd bailed on the cleaning.

Still, he certainly couldn't just say he'd met up with Lord Voldemort at a park in London. Although, for some reason, Harry didn't think that Ron would believe that anyway.

Eventually, after much deliberation, Harry took a deep breath and walked to the door. He reached out, placing his hand on the handle and resting it there for a few moments before pulling the door open and stepping into the house.

Inside there was total chaos. Harry heard the yelling as soon as the door opened, and this time it wasn't the portrait of Sirius's mother. He winced away from it, resisting the urge to flee straight up the stairs to the bedroom that he shared with Ron.

Instead he walked to the door leading to the kitchen and the yelling, knowing the longer he put it off the worse it would be. The door was open and he leaned against the frame as Mrs. Weasley yelled. He was rather surprised to find that the target of her anger was her youngest son.

"Why would you let him wander off!" she screamed. The Weasley children in the kitchen all leaned away from her as she yelled, obviously relieved that her anger was not being directed squarely at them.

"I'm supposed to stop him from going outside now?!" Ron yelled back. He was flushed red with anger and Harry wondered how long this had been going on for. He immediately felt bad that she'd taken it out on him. Mrs. Weasley looked shocked and like she was ready to strike him as he talked back to her.

"I wasn't aware Ron was my keeper now," Harry said quietly. Something inside him, some small almost female voice in his head, told him that he needed to be calm. Somehow he just knew that losing his temper in this situation wouldn't help him at all.

Every eye in the kitchen turned to him as soon as he'd spoken. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley both rushed to him. Thankfully, Harry thought, Hermione got there first. She hugged him tightly. Harry returned it with one arm, standing straight for a moment until she dislodged herself from him.

"You're okay!" she shrieked, right near his ear. He winced away from the noise.

"Of course I'm okay," Harry said. "I just went for a walk."

"But Harry that's-" Hermione started. Harry just gave her a patronizing look.

"If going for a walk is dangerous we're doing something wrong," Harry said.

"And you would know?!" Molly Weasley yelled at him. Harry didn't flinch, though.

"Yes," Harry said, stopping her in her tracks. She only paused for a second though.

"And how would you know?!" She yelled more. "We're doing all of this to protect you Harry!"

"Why does it always seem that I only need protecting in August?" Harry asked dryly. "June and July I can rot in Surrey just fine. But come August I better be protected!"

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. But he didn't flinch from her words like she'd expected. To Harry's surprise it was Ron who spoke next.

"He's got a point, you know," Ron said, a harsh edge in his tone.

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley snapped at him.

"He does though! They had him locked in a room when we went and got him with the car!" Ron said, waving his arms as he spoke. Harry noticed Sirius flinch at his friend's comment. He looked away from his Godfather though, knowing deep down that he was just one more person who wasn't telling him everything.

"He's safe there," Sirius said calmly. His tone betrayed him though. Harry could tell that his Godfather didn't believe it. He shifted against the door frame before speaking.

"I've only been attacked there. Never elsewhere," Harry said. "Well not counting Hogwarts."

"Exactly!" Molly said, casing Harry to roll his eyes. Of course she would point to that meaning he was in danger constantly, and not just where they'd just finished saying he was safe.

"Nothing is going to attack me while I take a walk in London," Harry said calmly.

"You can't possibly now that!" Molly barked back. "You-Know-Who sent dementors after you in Surrey!"

"No she didn't," Harry responded. Everyone in the room paused and stared at him.

"What?" Sirius asked.

"She didn't," Harry said.

"You can't possibly know that," Molly responded.

"True, I can't," Harry said. "But it doesn't make sense."

"Harry she wants you dead," Sirius said.

"Well she might. But think about it. It doesn't make sense," Harry said.

"Harry you can't put yourself in danger!" Molly said, ignoring the conversation going on between Harry and Sirius. In fact, it seemed like she was doing everything in her power to end the conversation. Sirius glared at her for a moment before he spoke again.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"How many Death Eaters are in Azkaban?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Sirius said. "A few dozen at least."

"And Lord Voldemort would benefit greatly from their return to her side?" Harry asked. Everyone in the room flinched at the name. Mrs. Weasley even gasped a bit as he spoke.

"Of course she would," Molly snapped after recovering herself.

"Well, nothing is a sure thing Harry. But yes I do believe that she would rather have them out of prison than inside," Sirius said after a moment.

"Which is why you can rule her out," Harry said.

"That doesn't make sense, Harry," Sirius sighed.

"If Lord Voldemort had sway over the dementors she would use them more intelligently than sending them after me," Harry said. "She'd be getting her followers out of prison before she'd worry about me."

"Again, Harry, you can't possibly know that," Sirius said.

"No. I can't. But it's far more likely she'd find a better use for such a resource than sending two after me. Especially when it's fairly common knowledge I've fought and bested them multiple times," Harry said confidently.

"It's still reckless," Molly Weasley said.

"She's right, Harry," Sirius said. "There's no reason to be so reckless."

"And we needed your help!" Ron said. "This place is a pain to clean."

"I have a hard time believing that two adult spell casters really need our help cleaning this place," Harry said. Ron and Hermione looked between each other, and then back at him, and then angrily at the Weasley matriarch.

Fred and George also glared angrily at their mother as the realization of all of the work they'd been doing could have been easily completed by the adults. Harry straightened and walked out of the kitchen. A rush of yelling followed him out of the kitchen. He decided to not press his luck by stepping back toward the front door, and instead turned to move up the stairs, heading to his bedroom and hoping his trunk still had some chocolate frogs or cauldron cakes stashed away.

He frowned as he realized he should have taken Emily up on her offer of food. Then he frowned more when he realized he thought of her as Emily, and not Lord Voldemort. Wondering just what changed in him in such a short time. Or if perhaps there was a simple power in knowing someone's name.

"Harry, wait," Sirius said from behind him.

"Yes?" Harry asked, turning halfway up the stairs. The portrait of Sirius's mother started yelling, but he silenced it with a flick of his wand.

"That was low," he frowned.

"I don't like busy work and chores. If I did I'd have just stayed with the Dursley's," Harry said. "Let me use magic and I'll help. I might learn something that way. Otherwise I'm not scrubbing any more sheets." To his surprise, Sirius smirked.

"Hey I just wanted to get away from Molly until her children are done yelling at her. I can't say she didn't have it coming. She was a right pain while you were gone. Where did you go anyway?"

"Where I said," Harry sighed. "I just went for a walk. Found a park not too far away and wandered around it. Then came back."

"Your father hated being stuck inside," Sirius said.

"Can I ask you something?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Sirius said.

"What happened at Brecon?"

"What?" Sirius looked shocked. "How did you learn of that?"

"I heard some order members talking about it," Harry lied. Sirius didn't believe that, he could tell immediately.

"Not many people now about that." Sirius sad.

"Well what happened there. I know my parents were involved." Harry crossed his arms and stared at Sirius. The older man frowned. Harry could see the conflict on his face. Part of him wanted to tell Harry everything he knew, but another part of him was holding something back. Harry was just about ready to storm off when Sirius spoke.

"I don't know," he said quietly.

"Oh that's just-" Harry started.

"No, you misunderstand me, Harry," Sirius said. He hesitated for a moment as if trying to think of a better way to phrase his next argument.

"Well make me understand then," Harry said.

"I don't know what happened there. I honestly don't Harry. I was there, yes, but that night is a blur. And I was with Remus while your parents were with Peter," Sirius said. He spat Pettigrew's name out, as if even just saying it disgusted him.

"Why were you there?" Harry asked.

"I honestly don't remember," Sirius said. He paused for a moment and ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't a particularly unique operation going in. I can't remember if we were protecting Muggles, trying to recruit someone, looking for something, following up on giants or you-know-who herself. We'd done similar operations before. Brecon is in a territory where giant activity wasn't uncommon. So I think that probably was it. But I don't remember what the exact premise was. It hadn't mattered."

"Well what happened then?" Harry asked again.

"I don't know the specifics, Harry," Sirius sighed. "Remus and I were told to guard a hill overlooking part of the town, to insure that no reinforcements would come up. So we guarded that hill."

"Who told you to do that?" Harry asked, expecting that Dumbledore had been in charge of the operation.

"Your father," Sirius said.

"And he went off alone?" Harry asked.

"Hardly alone, Harry. He had your mother and Peter with him," Sirius scoffed.

"Well he was a traitor," Harry said.

"Well we didn't know that at the time," Sirius scoffed. "Anyway. Eventually some fighting broke out in the city. It wasn't long before ministry officials were apparating in. Dumbledore with them. I learned later that your parents fought You-Know-Who and…well either way. Your mother was stunned and James held her off long enough for Dumbledore to spook her and flee."

"That's it?" Harry said.

"That's all I know," Sirius responded.

"And did you talk to my father about it? Or Peter?" Harry asked.

"Peter claimed he was stunned the whole time. Whether or not that's true, I don't know. I didn't really talk to your father about it. Dumbledore ordered me to look for my brother. Supposedly he'd chickened out on the Death Eaters. Still, they'd gotten to him before we could. By the next time I spoke to James they were already in hiding."

"I see. Thanks for telling me," Harry said.

"But where did you even hear about Brecon?" Sirius asked.

"I don't remember. Snape maybe when we spied on one of your meetings with the extendable ears," Harry shrugged. Sirius just stared at him for a moment. But didn't press the issue. Harry wouldn't have let him, anyway, as he chose that moment to duck into the bedroom he shared with Ron.

Hedwig hooted at him from her perch nearby. He stared at his owl for a moment before sitting at his desk, pulling out two small pieces of parchment and scribbling short notes onto each. He tucked them into envelopes and scribbled 'Phoebe Mitchell' on one and 'Emily Riddle on the other. Hedwig hopped from her perch down to his desk as Harry sealed the envelopes.

"Here girl," he said. "Take these. Drop the first one with the muggle post for her. Or leave it somewhere only she can find it. Deliver the second straight to the person though." Hedwig looked at each of the letters, then looked at Harry. She made an annoyed hooting noise.

"Take them," Harry said, once again offering the letters to her. She tilted her head in annoyance, before pecking at them with her beak. She paused and stared blankly at Harry. He rolled his eyes, deciding he didn't have time for his owl's petulance, and rolled up the parchment, before affixing it to her leg. She hooted at him in annoyance, but let him. When he opened the window she flew out of it. And Harry couldn't help but wonder why that had been so much trouble.

He didn't wonder long, though, as Ron and Hermione burst into the room moments later.

"Harry I can't believe you just snuck out like that it was totally reckless and you should have never done it!" Hermione yelled.

"Next time invite me," Ron said. "It's so not fair you got out of cleaning those curtains. Doxie droppings everywhere man. Everywhere."

"Sorry, mate," Harry laughed. Ron shrugged and waived his hand as if, in the end, it hadn't mattered that he'd been forced to clean and that there was no need to apologize for needing some time away.

"Harry you have to promise me-" Hermione started.

"Hermione," Harry started. His tone must have been harsher than he'd thought, as she stepped away from him almost in fright. Her eyes wide, like she expected him to start yelling. He wondered if perhaps he'd been a bit too moody this summer. But he didn't bother meditating on that thought and just asked the question he wanted to ask. "Can I borrow _Hogwarts, A History_?"

"What? I…well…sure," Hermione said, looking shocked and confused and then once that passed, excited. "I'll go grab it right away!"

"What do you want that for?" Ron asked as Hermione sprinted from the room.

"I just want to look something up," Harry said.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Here it is!" Hermione exclaimed, bursting back into the room. Harry suspected she must have been rereading it for the millionth time and that was how she could find it so quickly. She shoved the book into his hands. "You should focus on the founding of the school. That part is really fascinating."

"I'll look into it," Harry said, flipping open to the table of contents and looking for the specific header he'd been directed to.

"That's at the start, Harry," Hermione said knowingly. In his peripheral vision Harry saw Ron roll his eyes.

"Looking for something else," Harry said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and flipped through the pages. He'd opened the book to the thirties and flipped through the pages. Each head student had their own page, captioned with their name and signature, with a few photos and a blurb about their achievements both in school and out. Hermione sat down next to him and looked at the pages he was looking at.

"Looking for what?" she asked. Harry ignored her. Instead he just kept flipping through the pages slowly. He found what he was looking for on the page labeled 1944-45. He stared down at the boy on the left page for a moment. Jared Clarke looked absolutely normal, although perhaps a bit thin and tired in most of his photographs. Harry didn't bother reading his biography. Instead he looked to the next page.

Emily Riddle centered the page. Her signature beneath it was pristine, a large sweeping E leading into the rest of her name. He paused for a moment and then turned his gaze to the photos.

There were three there. The first was a long shot of her sitting out by the lake. There was snow on the ground and she and two other girls were sitting on a familiar bench near the water. They were all bundled up against the weather, scarves blowing in the wind. The two girls with her were smiling at the camera, their arms around each other. Emily sat in the middle, her expression indifferent as she gazed in the direction of, but not quite at the camera.

In the second photo she was demonstrating wand movements to a group of younger students. They had to be first or second years. Harry couldn't quite tell what charm she was showing them. But she was smiling in that photo, her one dimple showing. She seemed oblivious to the camera at the time.

In the final photo she was sitting at a table next to Jared Clarke. They were surrounded by prefects. She was smiling at the camera, but Harry could tell it was forced, a staged photo that she didn't particularly want to be a part of. She was tapping her quill against parchment in front of her, seeming eager to get down to the business at hand.

He let his eyes shift down to the biography. It was the remaining half of the page. It talked briefly about how she was raised at a London orphanage, and then extensively about her achievements at school. The largest blurb, Harry winced, was about her services in discovering who had reopened the Chamber of Secrets. Harry wondered just what the diary had told him. He wondered just who the man that had appeared in the Chamber claiming to be named Tom. And if it was all just an elaborate deception set up long before.

After that it stated she became a clerk at Borgin and Burkes. Harry paused at those words, wondering just what she'd wanted from the dark artifact shop.

After that, it simply stated that she went on a trip to the continent and as far as anyone was aware. Harry wondered just how she'd pulled that off. How she'd managed to disconnect Emily Riddle and Lord Voldemort. He shook his head down at the text.

"Oh she's one of my favorites!" Hermione said. Harry blinked and looked at her, almost stunned by that comment. Ron peered down at the book and shrugged his shoulders.

"She's cute," he said. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"She came from nothing. No idea of magic! She was living in an orphanage. She probably had muggle parents! And she became one of the best students in the history of Hogwarts!" Hermione argued.

"Good for her," Ron said. Harry could tell he was still just staring at the photographs.

"Honestly Ronald it's very impressive that she managed to do that! I've hoped for years I could put together a school career like hers," Hermione said. "Why are you interested Harry?"

"It's her," Harry said softly.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Who?" Hermione asked at the same time.

"It's her," Harry said again, more forcibly.

"Oh my God," Hermione said. She stared down at the page in disgust.

"You mean-" Ron started.

"Yes Ron. Of course he means that. I don't believe it. That's You-Know-Who!? Her? I can't believe it," Hermione raved. Harry just kept staring down at the book.

"How do you know?" Ron asked, ignoring being chastised by Hermione. He was used to it by then, anyway.

"She told me," Harry said quietly. He realized that was a mistake as soon as he said it, as he hadn't thought of an excuse for when she could have possibly told him that.

"When?" Hermione snapped immediately.

"At the Graveyard," Harry lied quickly. "I asked and she told me."

"And you're just looking it up now?!" Hermione seemed aghast by that realization.

"It skipped my mind," Harry said crossly. He handed the book back to her.

"We have to tell someone Harry!" Hermione said.

"Dumbledore taught her, Hermione. I'm sure he knows her name," Harry scoffed.

"Why wouldn't he tell you then?" Hermione asked.

"He doesn't tell me anything," Harry said. "And it doesn't really matter what her name is. I was just curious."

"Harry!" Hermione started, but she never finished her thought. Because at that point Mrs. Weasley decided to burst in and tell them of other tasks in the house that needed to be finished that evening. Harry just obeyed, knowing that it would prevent him from having to answer any more questions that evening.

Lord Voldemort had been rather surprised when the snowy owl had dropped the parchment on her balcony. While she'd taunted Harry with using his owl to find her, she'd never imagined that the bird would actually be able to do so. She took a moment to ensure that her defensive charms were still working properly. Everything was in place.

Emily pet the owl gently, before pulling the parchment off of her leg and reading it carefully. She smiled at the short lines of text before her, reading it carefully. She summoned some stationary and a quill from inside and composed a reply, scratching the owl gently as she did. When she finished she affixed it back to the bird's leg. It flew away without so much as making a peep.

Emily didn't have much left to do but wait. She hadn't formulated a plan to get her Death Eaters out of Azkaban yet. Although she had been working on one. But she wasn't sure if that was even the route she wanted to take as of yet. Regardless it wasn't close to being completed.

She also hadn't figured out how to get access to the Black vault to check on another of her horcruxes. She supposed her youthful appearance might be able to get her into the building if she wanted to risk it. And then she could try to imperio a goblin or two. But there seemed like too much of a chance of being caught and stuck in the bank.

And while she was certain she could fight her way out of Gringotts if she had to, it wasn't something that seemed particularly necessary. She hated not knowing exactly what she should do. And here she was at a crossroads with whether or not she even should do anything as of yet. They were leaving her alone. Perhaps it would be better to be patient, consolidate what she could, and move from there.

Still, she knew, she had until September to work on another plan. She figured she should focus on that until the end of the month, and then put other plans into action later. So she waited, patiently.

Two weeks later she stood outside the pub. It was a fairly basic establishment. Inside, she knew from visiting before, was a large wooden bar with many stools, a few televisions, and tables littered around. There was one specific one, hidden in a back corner, that she was hoping they'd be able to snag once he arrived.

She paused. If he arrived. She couldn't take it for granted that he would arrive. But she'd been careful to keep her presence a secret. There weren't any signs of her in London. She'd gone completely underground, as it were.

And now she waited, patiently. She'd always been patient. It was a very good trait to have. She could wait. She even relished in waiting. If she hadn't wanted to wait, then she shouldn't have arrived twenty minutes before she was supposed to.

So she waited. She shifted her purse, a small brown Louis Vuitton that reminded her of him. She hadn't been able to resist it when she'd gone, on a whim, into the store.

She shook thoughts of the past from her head though, there was no use dwelling on what might have been. What had happened was far more important. Still, it was almost reassuring to be standing on a muggle street, in muggle clothing, completely ignored by everyone who passed by.

She smoothed her blue halter dress down as she waited, shifting her weight back and forth. She wasn't wearing boots for, she realized, the first time since she reincarnated. She felt oddly exposed in the blue flats. But she knew she was just being silly.

After ten more minute of waiting, her patience was rewarded. She smiled as Harry Potter approached her. He blushed when he saw her. He was dressed as shabbily as ever, worn jeans and a too-large button up shirt. She'd had better clothing at the orphanage and that was during the war when linens were scarce. She wondered just what his aunt and uncle did that they were unable to support him at all. A small book bag hung over his shoulder

"Hello Harry," she said as he approached.

"Hello…Emily…" Harry responded. His voice fumbled her name, as if he didn't really want to say it aloud. "Your directions were perfect."

"I know," she responded, smiling. "How'd you get out this time?"

"I snuck out," he admitted.

"James Potter's invisibility cloak?" she asked. Harry paused for a moment and stared at her.

"It annoys me that you seem to know everything," Harry said.

"Well, what can I say? It was very annoying to fight against him when he had that thing on. Did you know it's resistant to magic?" Voldemort said.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes. It deflects minor curses. And I never could just summon it off of him," Emily responded.

"Interesting," he said, tensely. She frowned, debating pointing out that he was the one who had arranged this meeting.

"Indeed. Shall we go inside?" she asked, gesturing to the pub.

"What's in the bag?" he asked, tensely. His eyes focused on her handbag.

"I could ask you the same thing. I promised I wouldn't hurt you, you know," she said.

"And I don't trust you," he responded. She rolled her eyes and slipped the purse from her shoulder and offered it to him. He took it, hesitantly, letting his thumb trace over the embossing on it, looking at the pattern curiously, before gazing back at her. She shrugged her shoulders but didn't acknowledge the coincidence. When he realized he wasn't going to get a response he opened up the purse and peered inside. He took a moment to rifle around the contents. She wondered just what he thought of the feminine products she carried around, if he could even identify them.

She was a little nervous, knowing her wand was in there, and that he could snap it in two if he wanted to. To her surprise, though, that wasn't what he took out of the purse. Instead he pulled out the pocket knife, pulling it open and staring at her for a moment.

"A weapon? You were going to stab me?" he looked alarm. At least until she laughed. She couldn't help it.

"A tool, Harry. No different than your wand. They're surprisingly useful for a great many things. Everyone should have a good knife," she responded, a flash of déjà-vu nearly overtaking her.

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Why don't you keep that one and find out," she smiled, taking her purse back from him. He stared at the blade for a moment before folding the knife back and tucking it into his pocket.

"Uhm, okay," he said, sounding and looking confused. Still, he didn't refuse the gift. He seemed to have the decency to do that.

"Can we go inside now?" she asked. He just nodded.

"Okay," he said and they entered the pub together. Moments later they were seated at the back corner table. She smiled at him, peering at the menu. Harry paused and looked around nervously.

"I only have wizard money," he said quietly.

"Fortunately I have Muggle money," she responded. "Now, you wanted to meet again? Your letter was rather vague."

"I was hoping I could ask you some stuff," Harry said.

"Like?" she asked. She ordered a bottle of wine for the both of them when their waiter approached, not bother to ask Harry if he had a preference. The waiter looked surprised that they didn't just order pints, but left to get the glasses and booze.

"I'm honestly not sure," Harry said.

"Well that makes it difficult to ask questions," Emily responded.

"Indeed. Do you remember Hermione Granger?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Emily said, remembering the bookworm readily enough. "Is that what you really wanted to ask though?"

"No I just, sort of ruined one of her idols recently," Harry said. "She's been quite annoying about it."

"Oh? Who?" Emily asked.

"You," Harry said. Emily laughed once more.

"Really?"

"Yes she was drawn to your page in the book. She thought a suspected muggle born garnering the top awards of the school was something to idolize and strive for. She thought it showed that she could become one of the best, too," Harry explained.

"I'm a half blood," Emily responded. "My mother was a witch."

"Well regardless. She now is all up in arms that she didn't make the connection. And wondering if striving for power will cause her to turn to dark arts and really just rambling on and on and on about things I stop listening to," Harry said. Their waiter returned with their wine. Emily tasted, then waited for him to finish pouring out two glasses and leave before responding.

"Sorry to have made one of your friends annoying," Emily responded.

"Oh it's fine," Harry said.

"For what it's worth she's too bookish," Emily said.

"I can only imagine what she'd try to do to me if I said that to her," Harry laughed.

"I didn't care much for the theory and all of the reading. I cared about doing. I was always more of a practical person than a theoretical. She's the opposite. I was always more interested in doing something than reading about it," Emily said.

"I feel the same way," Harry responded quietly.

"I thought you might," Emily responded.

"So why do you hate muggle borns?" Harry asked. It was an odd way to get to that question, she thought, but it was one she'd expected. She pressed her lips together and debated just how she should answer it.

"I don't hate them," Emily said.

"But you attack them," Harry said.

"I have never attacked a muggle born for reason of simply being born of non-magical parents," Emily said confidently.

"Yes you have," Harry argued.

"No, Harry. I haven't," she said. "I've killed ones that have attacked me, sure. But I have never gone after someone for that reason."

"Your followers do," Harry said.

"Some of the less disciplined ones, yes," Emily said.

"It's a bit of a cop out to just push that off on them," Harry said.

"Perhaps," Emily said. "But I can't take responsibility for everyone."

"Still, you pushed the Pureblood agenda forward," Harry said.

"I'm not a Pureblood, Harry. Why would I push forward Pureblood agenda?" Emily said.

"I don't know. Why would you?" he responded. She sipped the wine, staring at him. He reached out hesitantly for his own glass, gripping it by the cup.

"Stem. One never wants to appear uncivilized, Harry," she said, holding up her own glass by the stem. He blushed and changed his grip on it, bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip. He put the glass back down and looked at her.

"You ignored my question," he said.

"I did," Emily responded.

"Are you going to answer it?" Harry asked. She sipped her wine again.

"It's complicated?" she said carefully.

"That's not an answer," Harry said. She thought he looked rather tense, frustrated by the conversation already. She wondered if attempting to be playful was the best way to deal with him. She'd thought he'd seemed a little desperate for attention, for companionship that meant something. But she just couldn't see him bringing down his guard. Honestly, she knew, would work better than deception.

"It isn't. No," she sighed. "I'm pro Magic, Harry. All magic. Magical blood, in any form, is superior to muggle blood."

"Then why do your Death Eaters attack muggle borns?" Harry asked. "They're magical."

"Some of them are two hundred years behind the times on their prejudices," Emily said. "It's taken longer than I'd like to beat it out of them."

"But what's the point of going after Muggles?" Harry asked.

"We should rule them," Emily said. "Otherwise they will destroy us."

"They don't even know about us," Harry said.

"Except that they do. Intermarriage, families of muggle borns, there's all sorts of holes in the Statute of Secrecy Harry. Most century old political documents have holes. And they never accounted for cameras, or video recording, or the advancements in weaponry," Emily said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well it only takes one person to spill to potentially endanger the world. You live with muggles, surely you've seen some of the technology. They're linking the entire world, nearly instantons communication. How long do you think it will be before they figure out how to put video onto those devices? How long before someone records little Timmy doing accidental magic and the entire world sees it?" Emily asked.

"Who cares?" Harry countered. "The ministry would just oblivate them."

"Who's ministry?" Emily countered. "It's world wide, Harry. We'll spend more time bickering about jurisdiction while the Muggles discover us."

"This all came about while you were gone," Harry pointed out. "It can't be the reason for the first war."

"True. It's only gotten worse. I was more concerned about their weaponry before," Emily said.

"Magic counters that," Harry said. He took a second sip of his wine, holding the glass properly this time.

"That was a much better theory in the sixteen hundreds," Emily said.

"Shield charms still block bullets," Harry said. Dean Thomas had asked Flitwick about that directly and he'd assured that it worked. And that there were even other bulletproofing charms.

"Did you know, Harry, that the largest magical community in Japan was in Hiroshima?" Emily said. It was her turn to sip the wine.

"I did not know that," Harry said.

"And in one stroke of Muggle warfare, it disappeared completely. As did magical communities in Vietnam and Cambodia during the war there. And in Palestine as well before that. Even Diagon Alley was damaged and repaired during the Battle of Britain."

"I didn't know that," Harry said.

"I know. Wizards tend to ignore it. Yes, we can make ourselves bullet proof here or there. But we can't stop everything," Emily said. "They don't even need to discover us to destroy us. They tend to do so readily enough without realizing it."

"So you want to rule them," Harry stated.

"Rule? No. I'd prefer control," Emily responded.

"That's worse," Harry said.

"For them, perhaps. For us? No chance. The worst thing for us is our societal blindness toward them. The fact that many wizards can't even blend in with the dominate populace on the planet is jarring at best," Emily said.

"So you're afraid of them?" Harry responded. Emily glared at him. She paused for a moment to drink her wine. Their waiter picked that moment to return. Harry hadn't even looked at the menu. He buried his face in it for a moment. Emily seemed to pick up on that, she chatted idly with the waiter, asking about specials and for recommendations and by the time she'd ordered the fish and chips Harry had decided that that sounded like the best option on the menu.

When he ordered it as well she changed her order to a roasted chicken with peas and carrots.

"You'd just accused me of fearing Muggles," Emily said, drawing him back into the conversation.

"I did," Harry said.

"It's nothing to do with fear, Harry. It's everything to do with survival. But did you really want to talk about my opinion on Muggles?"

"No," Harry said. "I wanted to ask you about Brecon."

"You could have just said that in your letter," Emily responded.

"Probably," Harry said. "But I wanted someone to actually talk to me about it."

"What would you like to know?" she asked as their food arrived. She ate slowly, focusing her attention on the chicken as she did, eyeing his fish every moment or two.

"Well what happened there?" Harry asked.

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't remember?" Lord Voldemort asked.

"No," Harry said.

"Even if it's the truth?" she asked. She reached across the table to take a chip from his plate. He glared at her for a moment in response.

"Even if it's the truth," Harry affirmed.

"Well I don't know exactly what the Order of the Phoenix was doing in Brecon. If I ever did I have since forgotten the exact reasoning. I was there because your father was there. I was there largely because your father was there. And I wanted to speak with your father. Wormtail assured me that he could arrange such a meeting," Voldemort said.

"And did he?" Harry asked.

"In a way I suppose he was successful enough. But no, not in the way he'd implied," Voldemort said.

"Oddly that doesn't surprise me," Harry responded.

"It didn't really surprise me either," Voldemort said. She took a moment to sip her wine and take another bite of chicken.

"So what happened?" Harry asked, eating a chip.

"Nothing really out of the ordinary. They worked toward their objective. I caught up with them in a back garden of one of the homes. We fought briefly. He and your mother held me off long enough to escape," Voldemort said.

"That's it?" Harry asked.

"More or less," Voldemort said.

"There has to be more than that," Harry said. "Give me details." Lord Voldemort paused and stared at him for a few moments before again taking a sip of her wine.

"I don't remember what Wormtail did specifically. Knowing him he probably stunned himself early in hopes that it wouldn't draw attention to him. He was never particularly useful in a fight. But that would have suited my purpose anyway," Voldemort explained.

"How does someone not notice he stunned himself?" Harry asked.

"Well he is a coward, Harry. And battles are hectic. Things get lost in the shuffle, or James likely just assumed he was really a coward. Anyway, eventually I stunned your mother and tried to reason with James. He slipped under the cloak. Apparated around, summoned your mother to him and left."

"What did you even try to talk to him about?" Harry asked.

"Similar things to what we've been talking about," Voldemort responded.

"I can't imagine he believed you," Harry said confidently.

"I don't believe he did no," Voldemort said with a practiced frown. "I think perhaps your mother would have been a better target than your father. Unfortunately I did not think of that until much later."

"Why would she have been better?" Harry asked.

"She would have understood the dangers more, I think," Voldemort said.

"I think you're crazy," Harry responded. He finished eating his fish and stared at her.

"Well you're allowed to," she smiled at him, flashing her one dimple. He didn't know why but it made him look away and blush. Their waiter returned moments later and asked if there was anything else that. Lord Voldemort thanked him and handed him a couple of neatly folded bills and stood. Harry stared at her for a moment before she asked.

"Would you like to walk up the Thames with me? Or are you going to scamper off like most men after they get what they want?"

"I uhm," Harry said, blushing. He stood moments later though and stepped toward her. "I guess they probably haven't noticed I'm gone yet."

"Good," she smiled and led him from the restaurant. It was only a few moments before they were walking up the path next to the Thames. After a few minutes of silence she sat on a bench and stared at the water. Harry sat next to her.

"Where do you get muggle money from anyway?"

"Part time job," she responded.

"Seriously?" Harry asked, laughing. He knew the answer before he even asked.

"Typically I just imperious someone, tell them what I want and have them get it for me and then wipe their memory. Works really well for getting petty cash," Voldemort said.

"That's so wrong," Harry responded.

"Probably. But it's amazingly efficient," Voldemort said.

"Still, that's just, abusive. And you're the one saying we should be afraid of muggles and yet you're abusing them for your own gain. Seems like they should be afraid of you," Harry said.

"They should be," Voldemort smiles brightly. "Well if they knew about me."

"Which they never will," Harry said.

"We'll see," Voldemort responded, sounding like she didn't believe him.

"And I mean really, do they look like a threat?" Harry asked, gazing at a couple that walked by them, giggling happily on the cool summer evening.

"Individually they are not. As a group? That is an entirely different story," Voldemort said.

"You mentioned that, but they haven't had a major conflict in years. And the Americans and Soviets aren't at each other's throats any longer," Harry said. HE vaguely remembered hearing Uncle Vernon say that not too long ago."

"Their last two Great Wars were decades ago, Harry, and killed over a hundred million people between them. Almost nine million of those were magical. And that was unintended consequences," Voldemort said.

"Still, they don't have magic. There's so much they can't do. And there's nothing they can do we can't," Harry said.

"You think that?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes," Harry said confidentally.

"Look up," she said. And he did, staring at the night sky and the waning moon. There weren't many stars out, due to the ambient light of London around them. But the moon glowed brightly.

"What?" he asked.

"They put men on that," she said, he could see in her peripheral vision that she was gazing up at the moon as well. "More than once."

"So?" Harry said.

"Some wizards don't believe that. They say it's impossible. No spell can allow you to live in space, or travel that far. Yet they did it. They did it without magic. And they did it in an amazingly short amount of time after they decided to try," Voldemort said.

"Yes well, that's not really relevant is it?" Harry countered. He couldn't see how putting a man on the moon meant Muggles were any sort of a worry.

"They can bring back the dead, too," she said.

"No they can't," Harry countered.

"Yes, they can," she sighed. "Not in every situation. And only really in certain circumstances. But they can bring them back. No spell can do that."

"That's not really bringing back the dead," Harry said quietly.

"Sure it isn't," Voldemort said dryly.

"I don't see how it matters anyway," Harry said.

"It matters, Harry, because if we allow them to continue down the paths they're going down. They will discover us, they will figure out how to harness us or how to use us or something, anything, that we've never thought about before. And we will not be able to stop them. They're more innovative, more driven, than we ever have bene as a society. We stagnate, they advance. It's been happening for years. Eventually, our society realizes we have to catch up. Muggle born infusions drag us forward. But it always stagnates again," Voldemort said.

"I think you're worrying about nothing," Harry said dryly.

"I hope I'm worrying about nothing," Voldemort responded. "But I've seen too much to pass it off as just worrying."

"So is that why you're looking for a weapon?" Harry asked.

"What?" Voldemort asked, turning away from the Thames to look at him.

"The weapon that the order is guarding," Harry said. "The one they're convinced you're after?" He flushed suddenly, surprised by her confused expression.

"Oh that," Voldemort said, recovering quickly.

"Will you tell me what it is?" Harry asked.

"No," Voldemort responded quietly. Harry sighed dejectedly.

"Will you tell me anything about it?" he asked. Voldemort paused for a moment before responding.

"Just that it is very powerful and whichever side has it will have a massive advantage over the other side," Voldemort said.

"Well my side has it right now," Harry said.

"Indeed it does," Voldemort responded, smiling as if that sentence amused her.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Voldemort responded. She shifted closer to him, leaning against him. Harry froze, staring out at the Thames and wondering just what had possessed him to play for this meeting. Yet she was warm, and her weight felt strangely nice against him. They watched couples walk past in silence. A few of them looked at Harry and Emily sitting on the bench, before quickly looking away.

"They all think we're lovers you know," Voldemort said quietly as another couple glanced at them.

"Oh," Harry said quietly, feeling alarmed by that statement. "But you're a lot older than me."

"Well we don't look enough alike to be siblings. And I'm not that much older than you! At least in body," Voldemort argued.

"Seven or eight years isn't it?" he frowned.

"Yes. But well, I lost my virginity when I was sixteen to a twenty-two year old," Voldemort said dryly.

"That is way more than I needed to know," Harry said.

"Probably," Voldemort responded.

"I should get back," Harry said, standing and looking off in the direction he thought Grimmauld Place was.

"It is getting late," Emily responded.

"Thanks for meeting me," Harry said.

"Any time, Harry," she responded. "Good luck with your coming school year. If you need anything don't hesitate to write."

"Uhm. Okay. Thanks," Harry said. He stepped carefully away from her, as if he was worried about turning his back to her. She stood as well, smiling at him before turning in the opposite direction and walking away as well. After a few paces she apparated away, back to her balcony. She stepped inside and wondered if her plan would work. Either way, she'd done all she could, so all that was left was to wait and find out.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Chapter 7

"Tell me about Dolores Umbridge," Lord Voldemort said quietly. She was standing in the kitchen of the last house on Spinner's End. She was rifling through the cabinets, much to the annoyance of the house's owner. Although he did not have the courage to say anything to her about it. Of course he probably knew she could hear his internal screaming.

She half wondered if he was more annoyed with the fact that she was moving every item he had around, or that he was using his pristinely clean cauldron right on his kitchen counter as a mixing bowl. Still, he was the one who'd chosen to live in a muggle home with functional appliances.

"She's every bit as horrible as one would expect from Cornelius Fudge," Snape said quietly. "She seems more concerned with establishing her own position than anything else."

"Lucius has said as much. He's received advanced copies of the ministry decrees she wishes to pass," Voldemort said. She had read through them this morning. None of them, to her mind, seemed to really have much to do with education. But as long as the Ministry was fighting Dumbledore her pans would be considerably easier to enact.

"I don't understand why they're fighting Dumbledore so hard," Snape said. "It seems counter-productive from every angle."

"Unless your angle is staying in power," Voldemort said. "Fudge is a peace time minister. He doesn't have the stones to be an effective war leader. He knows that. He knows as soon as fighting breaks out they'll be getting rid of him immediately."

"And you would prefer Fudge in power?" Snape asked.

"I would prefer someone in power who thinks there is no way I'm alive, yes," Voldemort said. She started scooping the batter out of the cauldron and putting it in neat piles on cookie sheets. Cookie sheets she'd created by transfiguring another cauldron.

"So you wish for me to assist her?" Snape asked.

"No," Voldemort said. "I wish for you to keep your same casual disdain for every aspect of your teaching career and suffer through the year while keeping me informed. If the winds change, as it were, I expect you to keep your job. At all costs." She popped open the oven as the timer indicated it was preheated. She put the cookie sheets in and closed it with her foot.

"Yes my Lord," Snape said, nodding. He didn't comment as she dug some tea out of a cabinet. She made a face at it, as if it wasn't up to her standards, before transfiguring some of his kitchenware into a teapot. A flick of her wand had the water boiling and she prepared two cups.

"What is she even teaching?" Voldemort asked as she put one tea cup down on the counter near him, before bringing the other to her lips.

"This," Snape produced the book from his robes and set it down next to his teacup. He did not take a drink from it. Voldemort slid it over and stared down at the cover. _Defense Magical Theory_ at least it had a legitimate title, she thought. She paged through it and rolled her eyes.

"This is remedial," she said.

"As far as I can gather she, so far, has spent every one of her lessons just having them read a chapter in silence. They then have to summarize them for their homework. All seven years are doing the same thing. The students are not particularly amused by it," Snape said.

"I doubt I would be either," Voldemort responded.

"Apparently there is no practical aspect of her class either. Instead it is all theory," Snape said.

"And you're probably wondering just how you could get away with that in potions. Are you just going to have them read the recipes aloud as a group from now on so you don't have to bother grading individual samples?" Voldemort teased.

"Knowing the theory may be adequate with defensive magic but is not nearly sufficient for potions," Snape snapped irritably.

"Well still, seems easier than vanishing their potions so you don't have to grade them," Voldemort smiled.

"How did you know about that?" Snape snapped.

"You were practically shouting it when I mentioned grading," Voldemort said, nodding toward Snape. She knew he hated knowing that she could so easily get into his mind. But she couldn't help but rub it in a little bit. "And you were always easy to read."

"Perhaps," Snape said. He looked away and Voldemort didn't need magic to know what he was thinking. He was still wondering how much she knew, how much she'd always known, and how it would affect him going forward.

"You're going to cease doing that immediately," Voldemort said.

"I've done nothing that-" Snape started.

"Regardless," Voldemort interrupted him. "It will cease immediately."

"Why does his potions skill concern you?" Snape asked. Voldemort suppressed the urge to crucio him. She was finding herself more and more annoyed by Snape since her return. There was something about the way that he looked at her that made her want to hit him. He'd always been genuinely unpleasant to be around. But now he was even more so.

"It doesn't, Severus," she responded as icily as she could.

"Then I do not see what business that is of yours then," Snape said.

"It's a foolishly reckless way to endanger your job. Just what do you think would be the repercussion if Dumbledore or McGonagall saw you doing it? As of now you still are useful to me. If I were you I would not be particularly interested in what would happen if you found yourself unemployed," Voldemort said. Snape swallowed hard and looked at her.

"How I choose to teach my class is none of your concern," he said, the fight slipping from his voice as he spoke. Voldemort just kept staring at him. She paused long enough to take a sip from her tea.

"Just what do you hate him for?" she asked quietly.

"Your demise," Snape said, far too quickly. Voldemort laughed.

"Just what do you hate him for?" she asked again, putting more steel into her voice.

"The boy is his father reincarnated. The world does not need another James Potter. I just hope I can teach him some humility," Snape barked. Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him.

"I feel like we've had this conversation. Sure, he looks like James. But in demeanor he is far close to Lily," Voldemort said. She paused, and then as an afterthought added, "And the world really could use a few more James Potters. The action-oriented type always seemed to go further than the bookworm."

"And you would know? What would you possibly know of Lily Evans?" Snape asked. He was at least smart enough to avoid her not so veiled barb.

"Far more than you, it would seem," Voldemort said.

"How could you possibly. I knew her from the time I was eleven. She was kind. She was warm. She was loving-" he would have likely continued for quite some time, but Voldemort interrupted him.

"She hated you," she said dryly.

"She did not she-" he started.

"She hated you," Voldemort said again. "And if she could see you now, she would hate you even more."

"How dare you," he spat.

"Tell you the truth? Someone needed to. Do you honestly think any woman could possibly care for a man who is intentionally cruel to her son?" Voldemort snapped. "Do you think I would even let you live if you were cruel to my son?"

"Good thing you were never a mother," Snape spat defiantly. Voldemort shook her head, thinking to herself that the man before her was woefully naive and arrogant. Perhaps he hated Potter so much purely because the boy was more like him than he cared to admit. Minus the interest in the Dark Arts and power, at least.

"Is that why you've kept this house. I can't imagine you have many fond memories of growing up here. Are you just hoping that one day Lily Evans will walk in looking for you? She's dead. Her son is her legacy," Voldemort said.

"The boy is nothing like his mother," Snape said. But he winced away from her.

"The boy is kind. The boy is warm. The boy is loyal. The boy is loving. The boy is curious. The boy is modest. The boy is exactly like his mother. Is it the eyes? Can you not look into his eyes without reliving your failures?"

"You," Snape spat, reaching into his robes for his wand. Voldemort smiled at him.

"Are you going to curse me Severus?" She had her wand trained on him before he even had his out of his robes.

"OF course not," Snape said guiltily. Voldemort just kept smiling at him.

"Well see, shall we?" she waved her wand, pulling his hand from his robes. His fingers were clenched tightly around his wand.

"And just what were you going to do with that then?" she asked as the timer on the oven went off. She smiled and walked over to it, withdrawing the two cookie sheets. She waved her wand over them to cool the cookies before transfiguring Snape's cauldron that she'd used as a mixing bowl into a clear container. She used magic to stack the cookies neatly in the container.

"I had a gift for you," he stammered, interrupting her.

"Well I certainly hope so. But we both know that's not what you pulled your wand for," she said.

"I, my Lord, I," he started.

"Crucio," she said quietly. Snape fell to the ground, writhing in pain. She held her wand on him for ten seconds before lifting the spell and kneeling next to him. He coughed and stammered and spit some blood onto the floor.

"My Lord," he stammered weakly. She plucked his wand from him and stared at her.

"Did we learn our lesson?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes my lord," Snape asked, his eyes filled with hatred as he stared up at her. A pity he would never realize that it was through his own actions he'd lost everything he thought he'd cherished. She knew she'd have to kill him, one day. But that day was not going to be today.

"Good," Voldemort said. She stepped away from him and placed his wand down on his kitchen counter. She leaned against it.

"I've given you my report on the affairs at Hogwarts. What more do you need, my Lord?" Snape said through gritted teeth as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Have you retrieved my diary yet?" She asked.

"Yes my Lord," he said carefully. She wondered if he was intentionally keeping it from her. As if he thought that revealing it now would curry some favor with her. He pulled it from his robes. She levitated it from him to her.

"How did he even…" she started, turning it over in her hands and marveling at the large hole left in the center of it.

"Basilisk fang," Snape said. "I assume the venom destroyed everything left."

"That's right, he killed Al," Voldemort said, frowning down at the diary as she paged through it.

"Al?" Snape said sounding stunned. "You named the Basilisk Al?"

"Of course not," Voldemort said dryly. "Salazar Slytherin named the basilisk Ariadne. But she preferred Al or Ally. And I wasn't about to argue with a thousand year old Snake."

"I don't think that diary is salvageable," Snape said, seeming to think it was best to not talk.

"You'd be wrong," Voldemort said. She waved her wand over it, slowly, moving it back and forth above the diary. Snape watched as the venom absorbed into the pages leeched back out of the pages and vanished into the air. Once she finished she repaired the cosmetic damage to the pages.

"How did you do that?" Snape asked curiously. "How could you repair that damage? Even Dumbledore couldn't salvage anything out of that diary."

"I'm not trying to salvage anything," Voldemort said. "I'm trying to make sure it doesn't poison anyone who touches it and fix the cosmetic damage. It will never be what it was again. But I do not need it to be what it was before."

"What purpose does that serve?" Snape asked.

"Your other master gets into your head as easily as I do, Severus. Do you really think I'd tell you exactly what this stage of my plan entails?" Voldemort said.

"Dumbledore cannot read my thoughts," Snape defended himself. Voldemort shrugged her shoulders and continued casting spells on the diary.

"Cannot and does not are two different things," she responded.

"Dumbledore trusts me," Snape said. "Perhaps I could help."

"Oh you will help, Severus. Now we were talking about Dolores Umbridge," she said.

"What more do you want to know about her?"

"How does she treat Harry Potter?" she asked. Snape flinched.

"I don't know. Like anyone else I guess," he said. But his thoughts betrayed him immediately. Voldemort sighed.

"Like anyone else?" she said, continuing to cast on the diary.

"Yes, like anyone else," Snape responded.

"How does she treat Harry Potter, Severus," Voldemort said.

"Like I said she treats him as any other student," Snape said. "There's been nothing unusual from what I can tell."

"Crucio," Voldemort said, snapping her wand away from the diary and to Snape. The potions master crumpled with a shriek of agony. She held the spell for five seconds before letting it go.

"Master…please," Snape begged as he rose to his feet.

"A week of detention with a blood quill? And that's how she treats everyone?" Voldemort snapped. Snape flinched away from her.

"Every detention she has given out has involved a blood quill, yes," Snape snapped.

"Oh cute," Voldemort snapped. "I should curse you again just for that."

"Master, I merely," Snape started, but Voldemort waived her hand airily to silence him and went back to working on her diary. Snape sat at the table, trembling from the after effects of the cursing. He did, though, finally take a sip of his tea.

"A week of detention with a blood quill though? How did she possibly get approval for that," Voldemort said.

"I don't think she really needs approval for anything, given that she answers only to the Minister of Magic," Snape said dryly.

"He may have permanent scarring from a week of that," Voldemort frowned.

"You've already scarred him once. What's a few more?" Snape asked.

"Shush," Voldemort said, her wand twitched toward Snape. But, she decided, it wasn't worth it to curse him again.

Instead Voldemort kept working on the diary. It took her the better part of a half hour before she smiled down at it and tucked her wand behind her ear. She reached for a self-inking quill Snape had laying on the counter and flipped it open. She wrote her name in it once, on the top line of the blank first page and smiled when the ink disappeared.

She didn't bother waiting for a response of any time. Instead she just closed it placed it down on Snape's counter, placing the quill next to it.

"Excellent," she said, lost in her own work.

"What exactly did you do," Snape asked.

"That is not your concern," Voldemort said. "Not that I could trust you with that information anyway."

"Master I would never," Snape started.

"Save it," she laughed. Snape closed his mouth but glared at her.

"What will you have me do then?" he asked, as if sensing he would be able to bring this meeting to a close if he were able to get his next set of orders and get out.

"Continue as normal but I want to know everything that this Dolores Umbridge comes up with. I may see if I can use some of it to my advantage," Voldemort said.

"Yes master," Snape nodded.

"And if I hear that you have vanished another of his homework assignments I'm going to be very cross with you," Voldemort said.

"That may appear suspicious," Snape said.

"No. Treating a student like a student and grading their work fairly would not appear suspicious," Voldemort said. "It would appear professional. Far more professional than your constant comparisons to his father."

"Yes my Lord," Snape said through gritted teeth. He paused for a moment, looking like he desperately wanted to argue. But he said nothing more.

"Good. Well then, until next month," Voldemort said, grabbing the journal and stepping toward the front door.

"Until then," Snape responded, looking both relieved and like he dreaded the coming date. She took three steps toward the door before pausing and turning to face him once more.

"Oh one more thing," she said, smiling.

"What?" Snape asked, his eyes darkening as he stared back at her.

"Since it seems like Dumbledore is trying very hard to avoid all contact with Harry I suspect he'll turn to you for certain tasks related to Harry Potter," Voldemort said.

"That does seem likely," Snape said.

"Then I suspect that soon he will ask you to teach Harry Potter occulmency," Voldemort said.

"Why?" Snape asked. Voldemort ignored him.

"It is crucial that Harry Potter does not learn occulmency," Voldemort said as she gathered up the cookies and the diary. Snape just nodded.

"Yes my lord," Snape said.

"Good," Voldemort responded before stepping out the door without another word.

Harry sat in the Great Hall rubbing his hand. Even though it was well after his detentions it was still nearly constantly sore. And when it wasn't it just itched excessively. He frowned down at it and ignored his breakfast. There wasn't really much else he could think to do.

He wasn't looking forward to History of Magic but he didn't think he felt ill enough to get an excuse from the nurse. He sighed and speared a bit of scrambled egg on the end of his fork.

"Are you going to eat or destroy your food, Harry?" Hermione snapped impatiently as Harry continued to mostly ignore his food.

"You can go to history without me," Harry responded, knowing full well that she was just impatient to get into the classroom and get her notes arranged exactly how she liked them. It was a ten minute process that tended to drive both he and Ron nuts.

"You'll be late!" she snapped again.

"I'll catch up," Harry said. Ron seemed to sense Harry's annoyance and took the time to clear his plate and speak up.

"Let's go, Hermione. I'm sure he'll catch up," Ron said, standing and pulling Hermione up to her feet. She glared at him for a moment before turning her gaze back to Harry.

"If you're late you will not be copying my notes," Hermione threatened. Harry just shook his head.

"I won't be late, Hermione. Not like Binns would care either way," he said as she and Ron left the Great Hall. The hall itself was almost deserted by then as most students and professors had moved to their classes. Harry sat there for a few moments, feeling annoyed at everything. Eventually he shoveled the rest of his eggs into his mouth knowing full well that he'd regret not eating breakfast in Defense when an empty stomach made him snap at Umbridge.

"Sneak some toast with you if you can," Ron said as he dragged Hermione away. Harry nodded, laughing quietly to himself. He sat for a few more minutes dreading the day. When he moved to get up an owl landed in front of him. It hooted and set down a package, offering its leg for cash on delivery payment.

Harry blinked and shuffled into his robes, the note on the package said four knuts. He put them into the pouch and the bird flew off leaving him alone with the plain brown wrapped package.

He paused, it wasn't stamped like all of the other packages that came in. He looked up to the staff table. Umbridge wasn't there. He paused and figured he may as well open it.

Inside was a small Tupperware with a few dozen chocolate chip cookies. Underneath the container was an oddly familiar journal. He stared at it for a few moments, blinking. There was no mistaking it. It was the same journal he'd stabbed in the Chamber of Secrets. Yet there was no gigantic fang hole in it. He blinked and stared down at it.

The warning bell for their first class rang through the school. He frowned, remembering he'd promised Hermione that he wouldn't be late. He gathered up his things, shoving the cookies and the journal into his school bag, and walked to history.

He stepped in as Binns shifted through the wall between his office and the classroom. The ghost professor paid him no heed as he took his seat. Binns started lecturing immediately. Harry sat in the corner next to Ron, pulling out his notes. He could sense that she wanted to lecture him on nearly being tardy, but she couldn't bring herself to interrupt for fear of missing any crucial notes.

Harry reached into his bag and pulled out his notebook, pulling Emily's journal out as well without realizing it. He looked down at the diary. Ron nudged him with an elbow and nodded at it curiously. Harry just shrugged and shifted his chair a bit away from his two friends. He looked down at the diary for a moment before figuring that there was no chance Binns would call on him anyway, and opening it.

There was a familiar script written on the first page. It was just a few lines of text written in a neat, practiced cursive on the front page.

 _Harry,_

 _I hope that your first few weeks back at Hogwarts are going well. Please enjoy the cookies. I promise they're not poisoned. If you don't believe me feel free to take them to the kitchen elves for examination. If you've yet to discover the location of the Hogwarts kitchens they are located directly under the great hall. Head down to the Hufflepuff common area and look for a painting of a bowl of fruit. If one tickles the pear the kitchens will open._

 _The elves are quite exceptional at identifying food and ingredients and have a genuine love for cooking and food. Be careful, if you let them, you'll gain ten pounds in one visit and learn far too much about baking for your own good._

 _They are also amazingly apt to gift a bottle or three of wine if one inquires. Really, I think they just like the attention. Either way, a little wine never hurt while studying for the O. !_

 _As you've undoubtedly already noticed I've enclosed my diary. The very same one you seemed to feel that you needed to stab with a poisoned fang. Don't worry, I'm not bitter about that at all._

 _Again, don't worry, the enchantments that were on it years ago are now completely null and void. Largely due to your efforts, mind you. But still, I think you may find it enlightening. Again I promise, Harry, that no harm will come to you._

 _Enjoy school!_

 _E_

He stared at the page for a moment. But eventually curiosity won out and he turned the page to see just what she meant. The next pages though, and really every other remaining page of the diary, was blank. He flipped back to the first blank page and stared at it, confused.

He picked up a quill and intended to write on the page. But before he could touch the nib to the page, the flickered silver and Harry found himself just staring before the classroom melted away around him.

Harry found himself on a train. But it wasn't the Hogwarts express. He looked down immediately and realized instantly that he was now female. He shot his arms up to examine himself and felt rather relieved when his arm ghosted out from the female body. He stood and stepped away from it, glad he could move around normally. He turned back to see just who he'd been.

A dour looking girl sat in the seat he'd just vacated. Harry tried to speak, but no words came out. He frowned and looked down at his hands, then around the train, then back at the girl. She wore shabby dark clothing, a grey shirt and a grey sweater. She was staring out the window, ignoring everyone else on the train.

It didn't take Harry particularly long to recognize her. Emily Riddle looking put out and very young. She couldn't have been much older than he was. He stared at her for a few moments, realizing quickly that this must be exactly what he'd done with the diary before.

He could feel the train starting to slow. Emily could as well. He saw she sighed and gazed out the window before standing and moving to the front of the car. Harry followed her, noticing a great deal of rather young girls in the train car with her. They were all asking her something, some were crying. Most seemed interested in where their parents were. Emily didn't really answer any of the questions.

Instead she just pulled some of her hair over toward her nose and sniffed again, making a face before brushing it behind her ear. Harry watched her movements, finding it all vaguely familiar. As he looked at her he couldn't help but think she looked exhausted.

Eventually the train came to a complete stop and the girls started to gather their things. Harry watched as Emily helped them take down luggage and queued them up to exit the car, for a moment seeming very much like a bored prefect.

She worked her way to the front of the queue and waited. Harry wondered for a moment why they weren't disembarking from the stopped train. He didn't have to wait long for an answer though, as a khaki uniformed man entered the train moment later.

"Good evening Lieutenant," Emily said with a curtsey. The man couldn't have been much older than her, perhaps five years at most. He looked young for an officer, Harry thought, and he walked with a severe limp, leaning on a cane as he moved.

"Good evening," he said, surveying the contents of the cabin behind her. "Orphans and refugees from London?"

"Yes sir," Emily responded courteously.

"Are you the matron?" he asked, staring at her.

"What? No," Emily looked bewildered. "Just the oldest one here, I guess."

"I see," the Lieutenant said. "Well head out of the train and continue down to the town. I'm sure the Bennett's will find a place for everyone."

"Yes sir," Emily said again. "Thank you." The Lieutenant just nodded at her.

"Welcome to Great Hangleton," he said brightly as the girls started to depart the train. Harry watched as Emily ushered the girls toward the town. They stayed to the side of the road as a fairly steady stream of army vehicles passed them. It was rather slow going with the luggage, but Emily stayed patient as they entered the town.

An older couple greeted them when they entered the town. They gravitated toward Emily and then spent a moment inspecting each child and sending it off with directions to what would be their home for the remainder of the war. Harry noticed all of the children looked rather frightened. Soldiers were milling around and chatting, but the mood seemed dour. He wondered just what year it was.

Eventually, with all of the children billeted, Emily was left with the Bennett's. She looked around the muddy roads and frowned.

"And where do I go?" she asked.

"Oh you're with us, Dearie," Mrs. Bennett said. "You're the spitting image of our Jane."

"Will she be joining us?" Emily asked, sounding rather concerned.

"No," Mr. Bennett said. "She's down south working at a radio factory. Doing her own little bit for the war."

"I should be helping the war effort," Emily sighed. Harry blinked and stared at her. She looked genuinely disappointed that she wasn't.

"Nonsense, dearie," Mrs. Bennett said. "Maybe if it's still going on in five years. Right now the best thing you can do is help out with the children."

"I could do more," Emily said.

"Well maybe offer to help out around the base. The soldiers are always looking for laundry or an extra pair of hands here or there," Mrs. Bennett said. Emily just shook her head. Harry noticed they'd started to move off toward a small house at the end of the square.

"We've made a deal with the base," Mr. Bennett said. "Lieutenant Billings and Lieutenant Price are staying on the first floor. They sometimes sup with us in the lower kitchen. But otherwise we've retained the entire second floor."

"So don't loiter downstairs," Emily said.

"They prefer it that way, yes," Mr. Bennett responded. They entered the house. Harry noticed it was very sparsely furnished. Mrs. Bennett showed Emily to a room with a small dresser, a tiny desk shoved into a corner, and a small bed. Emily sat on the bed and looked around, as if appraising her surroundings.

"No luggage?" Mrs. Bennett asked.

"No," Emily frowned. "It didn't last through the last bombing."

"Oh I'm so sorry. Feel free to help yourself to any of Jane's things. She's about your size and won't mind."

"Thank you," Emily said quietly.

"I'll leave you alone for now," Mrs. Bennett said. "You've had a long day. Bathroom is at the end of the hall if you'd like to freshen up. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours. I'll come fetch you if you doze off."

"Thank you again," Emily said.

"Oh it's the least we can do to help out, Dearie," Mrs. Bennett said as she left the bedroom. Harry watched as Emily just sat on the bed. She didn't move for what felt like an eternity before she opened a small bag she'd been carrying. She took out a trunk that looked like a scaled down model of his school trunk. She stared at it for a moment, before sighing. Harry suspected she was desperate to restore it, to take her clothing or schoolwork from it. But she didn't.

Instead she walked over to Jane Bennett's dresser and tucked the trunk into the top drawer, burying it amongst the clothing. Once she seemed satisfied with it she spent a few more moments looking through the options. Eventually she found a floral patterned dress in a small closet and held it up to herself. She frowned but threw it over her shoulder and stepped out into the hallway.

She seemed to attempt to sneak toward the bathroom, trying to make as little noise as possible. Harry noticed Mr. Bennett in a sitting room reading the paper. He gazed over the top of it at the new ward, but didn't say anything as she passed by.

Emily stepped into the bathroom and started the water, placing her hand under the tap and making a noise Harry could best describe as a moan as the warmth hit her hand. She stood and shook out her hair before starting to remove her clothing.

Harry swallowed hard as he realized what he was about to see. In moments, she was standing before him in her underwear. He stared at her, blinking, wondering why the Dark Lord had deemed to give him a diary containing this memory. He almost gasped aloud as she reached behind her.

But then the image dissolved rapidly around him. And he was sitting once more in History of Magic with someone tugging on his sleeve.

"Harry wake up," Hermione snapped at him.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't even take a single note!" she snapped again. Harry blinked down at the journal. The pages were a pristine grey. "Maybe if you write something next time you'll actually stay awake!"

"Maybe," Harry said, closing the diary and examining the cover carefully.

"That book looks familiar, mate," Ron said, eyeing it carefully.

"It's been in my trunk for years," Harry lied. "Figured it would be a good notebook/"

"It would be," Hermione snapped. "If you ever bothered to take notes!"

"Next time," Harry said. But he knew that wouldn't happen. He stared at the diary for a moment longer before tucking it into his bag, next to the container of cookies. He knew full well he'd never write into that book. Although, for some reason, he doubted it would be the last time he stared at it in History of Magic.

That thought caused him to chuckle quietly, drawing a confused look from Ron and another annoyed look from Hermione. At least, he smirked to himself, if he kept staring at the diary during History of Magic, and it continued as it just had, he might actually learn some history.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Chapter 8

Harry spent went through the rest of the day in a daze. He struggled mightily to get the image of a teenage Emily Riddle standing before a copper bath tub out of his head. He stared at the journal in his bag before both Defense and Potions but he didn't have the courage to take it out in either class.

By the time dinner came around he'd managed to get his mind off of what he'd seen long enough to wonder just why he'd seen it. What could her intentions possibly be by giving him something that showed him her past? Especially when it includes her undressing.

He debated asking Hermione over dinner just what life was like for women in the forties. But, if he was honest, he didn't really want the lecture. So instead he just sullenly nodded as she prattled on about what homework assignment he and Ron should complete when they returned to the common room that evening.

Harry sighed and wished that Angelina Johnson, the new captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, would call a last minute practice that evening just to get he and Ron out of having to do homework. But she seemed engrossed in a conversation with Katie Bell. They were both giggling and looking over at the Hufflepuff table. So Harry assumed the conversation was likely about a boy.

He picked at his dinner, feeling too distracted to really eat any of the roasted chicken the elves had prepared that evening. He had snuck a cookie before Defense and found it surprisingly good. He'd made a mental note to not let Ron see them until he felt like he couldn't possibly eat another one. But somehow he doubted that would fully work out.

Regardless he stayed in the Great Hall until he was one of the last students there. Hermione had left for the library earlier. Ron sat with him. They were offhandedly discussing quidditch strategies and the records of teams in the British and Irish leagues. Dean Thomas had joined into their conversation but Harry wasn't really paying any attention to it. So Ron and Dean had started talking about the Cannons instead of the school matches.

Eventually Professor Snape told them it was time to leave the hall and head back to the common room. They all rushed back, arriving just moments before Hermione. They had just enough time to dig out their books and pretend to be working on their homework before she entered the common room.

They managed to convince her that they'd spent a vast majority of their time working on their Divination homework. She seemed to buy it but immediately made them get started on their potions essays instead. She insisted that Harry must hand in impeccable homework after how Snape was treating his in class assignments.

Harry found himself rather annoyed by that, but knew she had a point. So he dug out his potions book and looked at the prompt from Snape. It was about the proper usage of Strengthening Solutions. Harry sighed and started writing without even opening the book.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Snape's essay," Harry said, watching the words fill up the parchment as he did. It wasn't that difficult of a prompt. Harry was having no difficulty describing the affects that the potion would have on other potions. He didn't really remember listening to Snape lecture on it, but still, the words came easily and filled up the page.

"But we haven't even gone over it in class yet," Hermione said.

"Oh," Harry frowned down at his paper. "Well I'm pretty sure I know this."

"Harry you can't just be pretty sure. Check the textbook!" Hermione chided.

"Fine," Harry said.

"Here mate," Ron added, handing his book over to Harry. He'd already had it open to the correct page. Harry started reading the description of the potion and compared it to what he'd written down. His essay was nearly verbatim the book. He wondered just where he'd learned all of that but figured he'd probably overheard someone talking about it in the common room while working on something else.

He handed the book back to Ron and continued the essay. He filled up the roll of parchment in about a quarter of the time that it took Ron. Hermione snatched it from him as soon as he finished. She read it over, frowning down at it as she did.

"This is really good, Harry," She said, sounding surprised. "You covered all of the bases on it. There's no way that he can give you a poor grade on it."

"Until he spills his dinner on it and can't read it," Harry sighed.

"If he does that go straight to Dumbledore. Just like you should have with Umbridge!" Hermione said.

"If Dumbledore could do anything about Umbridge he already would have," Harry said. He paused for a moment to rub the back of his hand where 'I must not tell lies' was scarred into his skin.

"Well, you have enough time to finish something else, too," Hermione said. Harry frowned. He didn't really want to do any more homework. If he was honest he wanted to sneak up to his bed, pull the curtains closed, and continue with the diary he'd received that morning.

"Probably should at least start something," Harry sighed. He knew full well that if he could get two assignments done he'd be able to relax more after the following evening's quidditch practice. He reached into his bag and pulled out the top textbook. He frowned down at the charms book, but figured a roll of parchment on the possible way to detect concealment charms should be a quick enough task.

He closed his eyes for a moment, noticing a light throbbing from his scar. He frowned and pushed that away. His scar hadn't hurt him in months. Well, he thought, that wasn't entirely true. His scar hadn't given him a sharp pain through his being in months. He had assumed with Voldemort back it would happen more often. Instead now he just felt a dull throb from it here or there. He could best describe it as a very minor headache.

He attempted to push the pain from his head, to focus on concealing charms. And it worked. Moments later he found himself writing the essay, his headache blissfully gone for that moment.

After a moment he started writing his essay. He had no trouble calling back every bit of information he could think of on concealing charms. He did his best to ignore Hermione glaring at him as he again wrote the essay without the assistance of the textbook. She snatched it away from him almost as soon as he'd finished writing it, scanning it for errors.

"How did you do that?" she napped.

"What?" Harry asked, legitimately confused.

"You wrote that whole thing without even reading about the charms!" Hermione said.

"Didn't we go over them in class last time?" Harry asked.

"Well yes but not the proper way to detect them or to neutralize them! He just discussed what they do and when they can be useful!" Hermione said, sounding rather annoyed.

"Well I must have picked it up somewhere," Harry shrugged. "Maybe Wood, he was always wondering if he could find a way to incorporate a concealing charm into Quidditch." Harry smiled at the memory of his old Quidditch captain. Of course the thought just made him want to get on his broom sooner. But he let that drift away as Hermione continued to lecture him.

"Well you got this part wrong, Harry," Hermione said.

"What?" Harry asked, feeling pretty confident that nothing in his essay was wrong.

"This bit, about using a solid object as a way to detect concealed people or objects. The book clearly says to use something like conjured smoke and look for an outline," Hermione said.

"A levitated solid object works better," Harry said.

"The book says smoke," Hermione countered, looking rather exasperated that Harry would argue with her.

"All smoke does is let the concealed target know your there. If you create something more animate and use it like a weapon the target is more likely to flee and reveal itself in the attempt. And if not you can manage to incapacitate it as soon as you discover it, rather than giving it a chance to fight back," Harry said.

"Oh good one, I'm using that," Ron said.

"Go for it," Harry said.

"That is not what the book said! What if you're trying not to break an object!" Hermione argued.

"The prompt specifically says against concealed humans," Harry said. "If I'm not worried about a concealed human harming me, then I don't see why it would be concealed."

"A friend in hiding?" Hermione asked.

"Well then it wouldn't stay concealed when it realized it was me, so problem solved," Harry said.

"Harry I really think you should change it," Hermione said.

"I'm not going to," Harry responded.

"Harry we have the biggest tests we will take at the end of the year! You can't get something like this wrong!" Hermione argued.

"Well if Flitwick marks it wrong I'll have learned something for the exam now wont I," Harry said.

"Well certainly but why would you want to get it wrong in the first place!" Hermione said.

"Because I don't think it's wrong," Harry said.

"But Harry the book clearly states," Hermione started. Harry faked a yawn.

"You know, two assignments done. I think I'm going to head to bed," he said. Hermione frowned at him and he took a moment to snatch his essay back from her. He tucked it in with his charms textbook so he'd have it when it was due to hand in.

"Well fine," Hermione said, knowing she couldn't argue with him sleeping after finishing most of his assignments. Harry threw his bag over his shoulder and walked up to the dormitory.

He was the only one there, which didn't surprise him as it was fairly early. He took a moment to tuck his books into his trunk and pulled out Pajamas, discarding them onto the bed. After he remembered that Emily's diary was in his bag so he dug that out and tossed it onto his bed. He took a moment to get a glass of water from the bathroom before moving to his bed.

He pulled the curtains closed and opened the book. He assumed he wouldn't really need light to see memories. But as he stared at the first page, nothing happened. He frowned and tried to remember just what he'd been doing when he drifted off in class. He'd just been staring blankly at the page. Just like he was doing now. HE frowned down at the first page and shook his head.

After another moment of exasperation he turned to page two, staring at it. Almost instantly his dormitory started to dissolve around him.

He was back in the bathroom of the Bennett household in Great Hangleton. His eyes flashed immediately to the copper tub in the corner. Water was draining slowly out of it and Emily Riddle was not in it. He turned to see her standing in front of the sink. She'd changed into the floral dress she'd picked out and was in the process of braiding her hair back, a pin in her mouth as she worked.

Harry watched her, frowning to himself. He was only moderately ashamed to admit that he tried to think of a way to rewind the memory. But repeatedly saying 'rewind' to himself did nothing. So instead he watched her finish her hair. After she seemed satisfied she stared into the mirror for a good thirty seconds, before simply taking a deep breath and stepping out of the bathroom.

She stepped nearly directly into Mrs. Bennett, who smiled jovially at her.

"Was about to make sure you hadn't drowned yourself, dearie," Mrs. Bennett said. "Dinner will be ready for a few moments why don't you join Mr. Bennett and the Lieutenants downstairs?"

"Okay," Emily said quietly. Harry could sense that she simply didn't have anything better to say. She looked a little thin, but he thought that might have just been because the Bennett's daughter's dress did not fit her properly. Either way she let Mrs. Bennett lead her to the stairs and she started down them while Mrs. Bennett ducked into what Harry could only assume was the master bedroom.

Harry followed Emily down the stairs. She moved rather deliberately, taking in her surroundings as she did. She distinctly looked like she did not want to be there. Harry raked his brain, trying to think of anything that he knew about the era.

He vaguely remembered having to do a project in primary school about children evacuated during the Battle of Britain. Had this happened to her every summer she'd left Hogwarts? Was this merely another stop between years? She'd certainly seemed accustomed enough to it on the train.

But could the magical community have been that clueless to what was going on to non-magical students when they left the school? Harry didn't really remember if the Nazi's attacked Scotland or not. But he figured, even if they did, a castle that looked abandoned couldn't have been that much of a target. London, he knew, fared much worse.

Still, he had a hard time thinking that the adults were totally clueless as to what was going on in the Muggle world. He frowns to himself as another thought washed over him. Witches and Wizards were, currently, totally clueless as to what was going on in both the Muggle world and their own.

He himself wasn't all that aware of it. Nor did he really know recent wizarding history. He knew, from Chocolate Frog cards, that Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald in 1945 and that that coincided with the end of the Second World War. But he didn't know the specifics. He suddenly felt like perhaps teaching every single goblin revolt wasn't an appropriate way to spend History of Magic.

He made a mental note to ask Hermione exactly what happened. But at that point he realized that he'd stopped following Emily and she was now nowhere to be seen. He had no idea how free of reign he had in the memory, but he figured it was best to stay relatively close to her. So he wandered off in the direction he assumed she would have gone.

She was two rooms over, sitting next to the young Lieutenant Price, the same man who'd greeted her on the train, at a table. Mr. Bennett was on her other side and an older man, Harry would have guessed in his fifties, sat next to the Lieutenant. They were matching uniforms so he assumed they were the Lieutenants that Mrs. Bennett had referred to.

Emily was looking around the table while Mr. Bennett chatted with the older Lieutenant. She looked like she thought she should perhaps be doing more to help out, but wasn't sure exactly what that should be without specific instruction.

Mrs. Bennett returned moments later, rushing through the small dining room and into what Harry could only assume as the kitchen. She returned a moment later with bowls of soup. She put one down in front of Emily first, then the older Lieutenant before returning to the kitchen for two more. After she served her husband and the younger Lieutenant she gathered a bowl for herself and took a seat neat to Emily.

Harry noticed that she didn't start eating until everyone else at the table was already lost in the food. She ate the soup slowly, almost methodically, as if it was something she knew she had to do and didn't enjoy. But her expression gave no indication as to if she liked the taste or not.

Eventually, the men started to talk amongst themselves. Harry followed the conversation, wondering if it hid some important detail. But it was just details about the war. He could tell that Emily wasn't really paying attention as they talked. At least until she perked up and stared at the younger man.

"The what?" she asked quietly.

"The Riddle house," the elder Lieutenant said. Billings, Harry thought his name was. He remembered hearing it in passing.

"The high command has been trying to use it as the headquarters here but the family there, the Riddles, aren't being particularly cooperative," Lieutenant Price said. Emily blinked at him.

"My surname is Riddle," Emily said quietly.

"Really, are you a local? I could have sworn you were on the train," Lieutenant Price asked.

"Oh no, I'm from London," Emily said. She blushed pink and looked away from the lieutenant. "I'm an orphan."

"I wonder if you stumbled upon some long lost relatives," Lieutenant Price said with a smile. Emily glared at him and the smile melted off of his face. She seemed to realize she'd caused that and immediately looked away.

"I doubt it," she said quietly. "I don't even know if Riddle was my mother's or father's name. My mother died giving birth to me and didn't indicate one way or the other to the matron."

"Goodness you were there your whole life and you're just now getting evacuated? This long into the bombings?" Mrs. Bennett said sounding rather alarmed.

"I guess so," Emil frowned.

"Well it's a shame that took so long!" Mrs. Bennett exclaimed. Emily didn't seem to have a response for this and instead just looked down toward her soup, playing with it idly with her spoon.

The adults in the room seemed to understand that Emily did not wish to be part of this conversation. Mrs. Bennett let her play with her soup, watching her with a careful eye while Mr. Bennett and the Lieutenants about successes in Africa.

Eventually the meal wrapped up and Emily assisted Mrs. Bennett with cleaning everything up. She really just did what she was told. The older woman did not try to engage her in any conversation past telling her where the dishes went.

After they were finished Emily thanked the woman for her dinner and excused herself. Harry followed her back to Jane Bennett's old bedroom. Almost as soon as she entered the room she took off the borrowed dress. She spent a few moments looking at herself in the vanity mirror, examining her body in her underwear.

Eventually she stepped toward the closet and sank down near here disregarded clothing from earlier. She pulled out what looked like a miniature school trunk, barely large enough to fit a hand in.

She reached in and seemed to dig around, her arm extending impossibly deep into the trunk. He realized she must have shrunk her school trunk for the trip back to London. He wondered just how she planned on completing her summer assignments without resizing the trunk.

Moments later she pulled out a warm looking green and silver nightgown. He recognized it as a style still fairly commonly sold in Hogsmead, although it looked a fair bit more conservative than the ones he and Ron had watched Hermione rifle through, feeling totally embarrassed the entire time.

Emily pulled the gown over her head, took a moment to smooth it out and then stepped toward the vanity once more, carrying her trunk with her. She reached into it again and pulled out a hairbrush. Harry watched as she brushed out her hair. She didn't spend particularly long on it. Once she was satisfied she placed the brush down next to her trunk and picked up the book that Jane had left on the vanity.

She chuckled softly at the cover that Harry couldn't see before taking it with her to the bed. She lay on top of the covers and opened it to the first page. As soon as she started reading the memory seemed to fast forward itself, not stopping or slowing no matter what Harry did.

He must have watched weeks flash by in an instant. He could gather her routine easily enough. She woke early and ate breakfast with the Bennett's. It was usually a quiet affair. Sometimes the Lieutenants joined them, but mostly they ate alone as a small group.

Sometimes Mrs. Bennett gave her some type of chore to do. Rarely anything more than trying to get food from the market or to help with the laundry. Emily did these tasks without question. She would; however, make herself scarce immediately after completion of the tasks.

More often than not she wandered around Great Hangleton in a daze for the majority of the day. She never really ventured far out of the town. Often other orphans from the train would find her. A few of the younger girls would follow her around until she managed to ditch them. They never quite seemed to realize that she didn't want company.

After a few weeks of exploring, though, her routine changed. One day she ducked into a barn a few yards outside of town, largely because she'd heard noises from it and was interested enough, or perhaps bored enough, to investigate. She stepped into the bar and saw a half assembled military vehicle, with a man leaning against it, wincing as he leaned over the open hood.

"Lieutenant Price?" she asked, gazing at the man. He was wearing khaki pants and a dirty white shirt. He turned to look at her, wincing more as he did.

"Oh hello Miss Riddle," the Lieutenant said. Emily stared at him for a moment. He was tall and rather handsome. She'd never really looked before. He had sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Aryan features, she thought idly to herself. When he turned to face her he leaned more on his cane.

"What are you doing?" she asked, peering at the car carefully.

"Oh, you know, just tinkering a bit," he said.

"Can I help?" she asked. She looked as surprised as he did that she asked. She paused for a moment, but then moved toward the car.

"Are you interested in cars?" he asked.

"Not really, no," she admitted. "But I don't really know anything about them."

"Well I could teach you," he said. "I'm not really an expert but I like to tinker. And with my leg. Well, I could use another pair of hands so I don't have to move around as much."

"Can I ask what happened?" she asked, her gaze shifting to the leg he was clearly not putting much weight on.

"Strafed by a Messerschmitt before Dunkirk," Lieutenant Price admitted.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's alright," he shrugged. "A mere two months after I'd gotten commissioned. They thought they were going to have to take the leg but they ended up not having to."

"Well that's good," Emily said, sounding like she had no idea what she should say to that. The Lieutenant just smiled at her.

"Yes, it was. Anyway, they wanted to discharge me but after training for so long I begged them to find anything else I could do. And here I am, helping oversee the base here. Not much going on really. Just a few soldiers helping look after the refugees. It's not glorious but I'm still doing my part," the lieutenant said.

"Noble of you," Emily said.

"I just wanted to be doing something, Miss Riddle," he said. Emily walked over toward the car, leaning on the opposite side of it.

"And now you have a lot of free time to tinker with cars?"

"Well the ones we have in town for transport aren't in the best of shape. Just trying to get them back up and running properly," the Lieutenant said. "It does fill the time though."

"So you come here every day?" she asked.

"Mostly," he responded.

"And you need a hand?" she asked.

"It would help, yes," he responded.

"Well where do we start?" she asked, looking over the exposed engine.

"I suppose with vocabulary first," he said. "Just so we're all on the same page."

"Okay, well, let's get going then," she said. Lieutenant Price stepped around so he was standing next to her, leaning on his cane. He smiled at her once before he started identifying the parts in the engine. Emily nodded along with him.

As soon as she nodded the first time, everything sped up again. But this time Harry caught bits and pieces of conversation. At first it was just a smattering of engine terms and repair diagnostics. But eventually it shifted. By the end of the first week it was no longer Lieutenant Price and Miss Riddle, but rather Martin and Emily.

He still followed her on her daily routine. He still saw the Bennett's disapproving looks when she returned for dinner, often with Martin Price, her clothing stained with oil. He still saw her drift off to sleep on almost every night with _Pride and Prejudice_ held in her fingers. Sometimes, though, she'd drift off after using her fingers for something else.

And he saw her rise each morning. He watched as she bathed in the mornings, he watched he dress, he watched her help with breakfast, he watched her eat, he watched her deal with the other orphan children, he watched her do laundry, her watched her start to fit in in the town.

Yet he could tell she was annoyed by almost all of these actions. She still wandered around, further and further away from the limits of the town. And almost every day she would join Martin in the barn. They would talk as they worked on the vehicles. Harry got the sense that they weren't working particularly hard. A few times they would finish fixing something, only to disassemble it and do it again.

But during these times they talked. And Harry heard their conversations, in a sense. Their words filled his head, but the images were flashing by faster than they were talking. He knew he must have been getting a highlighted version.

First he learned about Lieutenant Price. He learned that the man's father had served in the Great War. That he'd ended the war as a Lieutenant Colonel. After he'd become some type of accountant. Harry didn't particularly follow the specifics. But he'd gathered that Martin had led a fairly privileged life. It had only seemed natural for Martin to follow in his father's footsteps when the war began.

Emily didn't seem to comment much on his life. He'd grown up in London as well and they spent some time reminiscing about the city. They both seemed to rather like London. Emily talked about how she'd wander around just to get away from the orphanage.

And then Harry learned about her life pre-Hogwarts. He learned of the home schooling done in the orphanage, he learned how she grew up with nothing at all. He heard her talk about how when she was younger she wished she'd had anyone to confide in. He'd learned that twice someone had come and talked to her about adoptions, but nothing had come from those visits. He heard her say that, eventually, she'd come to terms with the fact that she would never have a family to call her own.

Harry frowned as he heard her talk. She was reciting emotions he'd felt. He'd always wondered why the Dursley's hadn't tried to put him up for adoption, or get rid of him if they'd hated him so much. Of course he knew that it must have had something to do with his magic and his parents. But before Hogwarts he had no idea.

He then heard her talk about the crippling fear when the air raid siren went off. How the shrill horn would cause her to freeze for a moment before she was able to join those fleeing to shelter. She talked about cowering together with other orphans in the tube station, listening to them cry as the world around them shook. She talked of the fear of the ceiling collapsing, of being stuck underground after the bombings.

She talked of feeling totally helpless. Of how, at first, the days had seemed like nothing but waiting for the sirens to go off and then surveying the wreckage after. She talked of seeing bodies in the street, of trying to explain what was happening to other kids. And she talked of being evacuated. And she talked of finding a sort of salvation at her boarding school. At least enough of a salvation where she did not have to worry about German bombs.

Martin asked her about school. She kept it vague. She did say she trained out from London to Scotland every fall. And back in the spring. She talked of how her school leaders did not seem to pay much attention to what was going on in the world. And she talked of how she was often worried about returning to London when the term ended. But that she'd always been evacuated out of the city shortly after her return.

Harry listened for a moment, wondering where this was going as days sped past him. One new morning he noticed the calendar had changed over to August and then he found himself walking back toward the Bennett's house, just behind Emily and Martin. They weren't speaking, just walking slowly down the road through the evening light. Near the house, though, she broke the silence.

"Can I ask a favor, Martin?" she asked, her voice taking on an oddly sweet tone. One that Harry had not heard before. Martin; however, did not seem to think anything of it.

"What's that?" he asked.

"I need to get to London by the morning of September first," she said.

"Why?" he asked. "London is not the safest place in the world right now. That's why you're here.

"I won't be there for long," she said. "Just long enough to hop on a train. The train to my school will only leave from London on the first."

"That seems backward, surely they know what's going on in the world," Martin said.

"Maybe," Emily said. "But they're not going to do anything about it. They're rather stuck in their ways."

"There aren't any trains running from here to London, Emmy," Martin said. Emily glared at him for a moment. Harry didn't know if it was because he called her Emmy, or because of his response.

"We've been fixing cars all summer, Martin," Emily said tersely.

"You want me to drive you to London," Martin said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Emily said. "So I can be to Kings Cross on the morning of September First."

"Is going back to school that important?" Martin asked.

"Yes," Emily said quietly.

"Em, it's like two-hundred miles from here to London," Martin said. "Maybe more."

"I can drive part of the way if you're worried about the distance. Well if you teach me how to drive," Emily said.

"It's at least five hours, Emily," he said. "One way. I can't just vanish from the base for a day."

"Don't," Emily said. "Tell Lieutenant Billings where we're going. You'll be back by the evening on the first. No big deal."

"Except I'll have to face the Bennett's knowing that I dropped you off in a war zone," Martin said.

"I'll be fine, trust me. I've done it before," Emily scoffed.

"That's so comforting," Martin laughed. "I'm sure the Bennett's will be pleased with that amount of comfort."

"Then tell them you took me to school directly," Emily said. Martin was quiet for a moment. He stared at her. They'd stopped walking just a few yards from the Bennett's house.

"There's an idea," Martin said.

"What?" Emily asked.

"You said the school was in Scotland?" Martin said.

"Yes," Emily responded.

"It's probably not much further than London then," Martin responded. "And it would be a safer trip."

"No," Emily said. "It has to be London. Besides, I'm not even sure how to get there. I couldn't give proper directions if we tried to go straight to school."

"You're not sure how to get there?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"No. Carriages pick us up at the station and take us the final stretch. I've only ever sat on the train and been carried around," Emily said. Martin appraised her quietly.

"And if I say no?" Emily asked.

"I have no idea. So please don't say no," Emily said. Harry could see her thinking. He could almost hear her thoughts. She was debating how she'd get a letter or a message to someone at the school. Perhaps she'd just use a ton of underage magic until someone came to fetch her. They might expel her, but at least there'd be contact with the wizarding world.

"It's only August tenth," Martin said. "How about you give me some time to think about it?"

"Okay," Emily said.

"And you have to work it out with the Bennett's," he said.

"I will," Emily responded quickly. Too quickly, Harry thought. But that didn't matter. Martin made no notice. Instead he stepped toward the door of the home and held it open for Emily. She stepped through without looking at him and moved into the kitchen. Harry watched as she tried to assist Mrs. Bennett, but the older woman forced her out of the kitchen, saying she was filthy and should clean up before dinner.

The rest of the evening passed as normal. The next morning, though, the routine changed. Harry saw her wake and dress as normal. But when she left the house, she did not venture to do any chores or toward the barn. Instead she walked out of the town. She was wearing an oddly familiar looking black dress and black boots. She looked around for a moment, gazing off toward the barn, before continuing to walk. Harry followed after her, past a sign that indicated they were five miles from Little Hangleton.

He wondered if she intended to go there, or if she was simply doing something different. And if she intended to walk the entire way there. But before he could find out for sure, the world melted around him.

"Time for Breakfast, Harry," Ron said, pulling the curtains on his bed back.

"It can't be," Harry said.

"Blimey, mate, did you forget to change?" Ron asked.

"What time is it?" Harry asked blearily.

"Eight thirty," Ron said. "Come on, let's grab some food before divination. You can fall back asleep while we gaze at balls to determine our future."

"Sounds thrilling," Harry said.

"Well if the bat wakes you up just say you were observing You-Know-Who killing you," Ron laughed.

"Hermione would snap at you for joking about that," Harry responded.

"And she'd be thrilled with you sitting up all night reading through your notebook," Ron said. "Now are we going to breakfast or what?"

"I have some cookies in my trunk," Harry said. "I'll just grab those. They'll tide me over until lunch." He slipped out of bed and moved toward his trunk, grabbing out the clear Tupperware.

"Where did you get those?" Ron asked. Harry popped the top off and handed three to Ron, knowing his friend would devour them. In fact Ron had one down before Harry had even grabbed a few for himself.

"Dobby," Harry said quickly. He figured the house elf would be a good enough excuse.

"Well he can bake," Ron laughed.

"Sure can," Harry said, taking a bite of his after no harm came to Ron. The cookies were good. He ate two before grabbing some fresh clothing.

"So Divination then?" Ron asked.

"Going to shower and change first, then yes," Harry said. He stepped into the adjoining bathroom and prepared himself for the day. He did his best to not think of the diary back on his bed and wondered if he'd be able to resist the temptation of staring at it during Divination. Perhaps he could pass that off as a form of precognition?


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Chapter 9

Lord Voldemort stared down at the latest Educational Decree wondering exactly how she'd be able to use it to her advantage. Snape had mailed it to her fairly promptly; she'd gotten the information from him as readily as she had from _The Daily Prophet_. So at the very least he was still following her instructions on the minute details.

It was the more important instructions she knew she'd have to pay more attention too. She sighed to herself, knowing it was futile to wish that she could trust Snape, not because she really wanted to, but just because it would have made her life considerably easier.

She still had no real plan for getting her supporters out of Azkaban. Part of her was wondering if she should even try. After all, she had no real idea what kind of mental shape they would be in after over a decade with the dementors. She wondered if they'd even be able to function, or if by now they were all just totally broken. Strangely, running a care center for mentally deficient former Death Eaters wasn't quite how she wanted to spend the next few years. Nor was she particularly interested in trying to rehabilitate them back to functioning humans.

But Lord Voldemort knew that would have to wait. Instead she would have to deal with the followers she had who were not in prison and had not joined her. They would have to be made an example of, of course. But it needed to be a quiet example, nothing that would set off the ministry.

She turned her attention back to the latest Educational Decree. It seemed… odd. In what world did Dolores Umbridge think it was okay to ban all extracurricular clubs? How in the world would she be able to effectively explain that to parents?

Hell, Voldemort thought to herself, how in the world did she explain that to Fudge? Surely there were parents students at the ministry wonder why their kid could no longer to go Gobstones club. There had to be some point where adults would protest. Regardless of what the paper was saying, there had to be a point where they'd just give up.

Still, Snape had told her it had come about because Harry had organized a meeting at the Hog's Head. Really, she thought, not the best place to organize a meeting. Although she did have rather fond memories of the old barman who owned the Hog's Head pouring her shots of Firewhiskey during her final two years at school. She wondered if that man still owned and tended the bar. And just what his motivation was for serving alcohol to a bored and lonely, teenage girl.

Either way she didn't focus on those memories for more than a few seconds. She paused and shifted her thoughts back to Harry Potter. He didn't strike her as the type that was really interested in extra clubs. As far as she knew he wasn't really on any of them except for the quidditch team.

Not that that really surprised her. Through the utter bullocks that Snape was giving her she'd been able to pick out that he wasn't really involved in anything past that. More often than not he just spent his time with Ron and Hermione.

Of course she hadn't been that much different. The friends she'd kept around her had been more because they'd been around than her actually caring about them. And she'd only been in one club herself, the now defunct dueling club. And she'd only really been in there because it let her vent. Which the school nurse wasn't a huge fan of. But it wasn't her fault all her opponents were slow.

Of course she'd been both a prefect and Head Girl, too. Which had involved extra work of their own. But those were appointed positions and not something she'd joined voluntarily.

Either way, Harry Potter had been caught trying to create an illicit Defense Against the Dark Arts club at Hogwarts. She wondered just what had pushed them to that point. Of course it wasn't that difficult. She'd read the entire textbook they were supposed to be learning in a single evening.

Still, she wouldn't have gone and willingly talked in public about it. That was their first mistake. Simply organizing a study group or something in the library seemed like a better option. Or at least one that gave an excuse.

Of course she wouldn't have cared about forming a club or anything and would have probably just done some type of independent study herself in the library. Still, she thought idly, the decree was just going to spur them on. There was no way they'd let something that minor stop them.

But they'd need a convenient place to meet if they were going to hold some type of a club. A place that they couldn't be found by anyone who came looking that would be large enough for them to work on defensive magic.

She thought of the perfect one instantly, of course. But it wouldn't be that easy to relay that information to Harry. She'd have to find a way to let him know without letting him know it was from her. She knew there had to be some way of getting information to him so that it would appear to be his idea. She paused and contemplated that for a moment before other facts drew her attention back to the present.

Lord Voldemort remembered she had more pressing matters to deal with. She could save informing Harry Potter on various secrets of Hogwarts castle for a later date. Hell, for all she knew, he'd already found the room. He did seem quite resourceful.

Yet as far as she knew his father had never discovered the room. And if James Potter hadn't found the Room of Requirement then there seemed to be little chance that Sirius Black had as well. Which, in turn, would mean that no one would have been able to inform Harry of its existence, so he'd have to have discovered it himself. But most people who found the room rarely realized what it was, and often gave up even looking for it again.

She had to remind herself again that she had better things to do as Harry came into her thoughts once more. She slipped off of the bed in her apartment and stepped over toward her dresser, opening up the jewelry box that sat on top of it. She took out her watch, frowning down at it. She still couldn't bring herself to actually wear it. But it served to check the time well enough. She closed the box and stepped out to her balcony.

She surveyed London for a moment, smiling at the evening light in the city. It was almost too easy, really. Why would Lord Voldemort live with Muggles? They'd never even looked for her in the right areas the last time. She had no reason to think that they would again. They never seemed to realize that she spent twenty-five years in the Muggle world before the start of their war.

No, the Ministry had decided immediately, there was no way Lord Voldemort would sully herself with Muggles. She doubted she'd even need the magical protections she'd put up.

Nothing too strong, of course, she didn't want anyone to wander buy and get curious at the excess magic in the area. But enough to warn her if anyone came about. It was just enough to give her the time she would need to determine if whoever was poking around needed to be killed or turned away more subtly.

It was fairly easy to imperious a landlord once she found a suitable living place. She typically picked a mid-level apartment. Often preferring one with more turn over just so the neighbors didn't get curious, but that was avoidable. And once the landlord was under her spell, well, she didn't even need to pay rent at that point. An alias wound up on the books and once it was done she'd be good to go.

She often wondered if the Aurors even knew that she needed to sleep and to eat. She wondered just where they thought she'd vanished to. She'd heard all the rumors, underground lairs, hidden castled with every magical enchantment known to man, or hidden places on the continent.

And really she'd tried all of that. But to get enough enchantment on those areas to make it suitable she may as well have put up a neon sign saying where she was. Early on in the war Aurors had raided two such locations she'd been using to hide. It was then she decided to change tactics. As much as murdering Aurors entertained her, she didn't think it was quite worth the headache.

So she'd sat down and thought about it. She asked herself one question. If she were looking for Lord Voldemort, where wouldn't she look. And the answer surprised her.

Of course, it amused her even more that the reality of her living situation was a fifteen hundred square foot two bedroom apartment in Islington.

Of course she never stayed in one place for very long. Prolonged exposure to the Imperious curse and Memory charms became a bit obvious. So she'd find a new place once the signs started to show. But that never took her particularly long.

She wondered just what the Order of the Phoenix would think if they knew that her hideout, as it were, was a mere three blocks from theirs. She could almost see the roof from her balcony. And yet, she knew, they'd never even look in the direction of her balcony.

Even her Death Eaters didn't know where she lived. She liked it that way. She preferred them to know as little about her day to day as they could. The air of mystery alone helped keep some of them in check.

And she much preferred to keep it that way. She gazed down toward street level, peering into the bushes in front of the building. She had a new mission for Nagini the next time the snake checked in. But that did not appear to be today. Eventually, she decided she'd stalled long enough and picked her destination out of her mind before disappearing with a pop.

She reappeared in a forest outside of Neiden Norway. She knew of a small tavern near the outskirts of the tiny village. She'd never physically stepped into the place, but she'd wraithed past it a decade ago. And it would work for a meeting location for now, even if three Brits showing up would be the talk of the town for the next couple of weeks. Still, she didn't think there was a magical presence in the town at all. And the two men she'd sent before her hadn't reported back that they'd found anything either.

She walked toward the village, transfiguring her clothing as she moved, changing the top layer into a black hooded cloak. She pulled the cloak up to cover as much of her face as she could before stepping into the tavern.

It didn't surprise her when every eye in the tavern turned to her as she entered. She had her wand tucked up her sleeve, not visible but readily accessible if need be. She saw two cloaked figures in the corner though, sitting at a table. Their hoods were down and they were eating some nondescript brown meat stew, each had a beer in front of them. They'd left one chair open against the wall. She stepped over toward the table and slid into the chair across from them.

"Avery, McNair," she said quietly as she did. They both stiffened as she sat. Neither appeared to have moved a muscle since she entered the tavern.

"My Lord," McNair said.

"Your last message indicated you'd found the target," Voldemort said.

"We have," Avery said.

"And did he see you?" Voldemort asked.

"No my Lord," Avery said.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"A few hours trek north," McNair said. "We would be happy to take care of him for you."

"I know," Voldemort said. "But I need to do it myself. Somethings just require a more personal touch."

"Yes my Lord," said McNair.

"Are you two done, then?" Voldemort asked, looking at their nearly untouched meals.

"Of course My Lord," McNair said.

"Well, you were early," Avery said carefully, staring down at his food.

"Eat," Voldemort said, leaning back in the chair and gazing around the tavern, turning her attention from the men. It took them a moment to resume eating, as if they were worried she would curse them. But she needed hem to be fresh and alert and hunger was an annoyance that she didn't feel quite like dealing with at this moment.

"Thank you, My Lord," McNair said, going back to his food. Voldemort just nodded, letting them eat for a few moments before continuing the conversation.

"What awaits us?" she asked.

"He has some fairly standard anti-intruder charms set up. We made certain we did not trip them. But judging from his location, he spend more time investigating animals that trigger them than anything," Avery said.

"Is the local wildlife magical?" Voldemort asked.

"No," McNair said. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Shame," Voldemort said dryly. "I would have loved an Amarok pelt. A nice white one for the winter wardrobe."

"Those are more often found in Greenland," McNair said. "Easy to hunt if one wants to take the risk on a winter night."

"I'll keep that in mind," Voldemort rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Nothing but anti-intruder charms?"

"Well we didn't go inside his hovel. From what we managed to gather no, he's trying to keep himself as unnoticed as possible," Avery said.

"Shame he's terrible at it," she responded.

"Quite," Avery said, finishing his food.

"You covered your tracks with the townspeople?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes, my Lord," Avery said.

"Did he do likewise?" Voldemort asked.

"For the most part. He was not overly thorough about it. He comes to the village for supplies here and there. Some of the villagers remember and recognize him. I think it may be intentional for convenience. He claims he is doing wildlife research. That's how we managed to track him," McNair said.

"Well done," Voldemort said, standing and walking toward the exit of the tavern. The concept of wildlife research gave her an interesting idea. But she turned her thoughts back to her Death Eaters instead. Truthfully, she did not think they'd performed that admirably. She'd set them on the task nearly a full months ago. She highly doubted it would have taken her more than a week or two of serious effort by herself. Either was, as she stood, they followed behind her toward the exit of the tavern.

"Erase us and join us outside, Avery," she said coldly. The man nodded at her order and took out his wand.

"Should just kill them," McNair said, stepping outside into the cool evening.

"We need to be quiet, Walden," Voldemort responded. "Killing them is anything but quiet."

"Perhaps," McNair said, shrugging his shoulders. They waited for approximately two minutes before Avery emerged.

"It's done," he said.

"Good," Voldemort responded. "Which way?"

"North," McNair said, pointing. Voldemort nodded and started walking north. Her two Death Eaters flanked her and they moved ahead in silence.

They walked well into the evening. Twice McNair signaled for them to stop, poking around the area after he saw a sign of something he didn't like. Voldemort found this to be a bit annoying, but knew he wasn't foolish enough to be doing it for no reason. So she waited patiently with Avery for him to decide the coast was clear enough to continue.

It took most of the night, but eventually she did step into the wards. She felt them well before the other two.

"We're getting close," McNair said a few steps later.

"I know," Voldemort responded. "We crossed the charmed barrier a few minutes back."

"You felt it already?" Avery asked.

"Of course," Voldemort said dryly. She could see the shack up ahead, there was no light coming from the windows. But that could mean a great many thigs, ranging from the simple, the lights being off, to the far more complex, magical spells designed to make the exterior appear uninhabited.

"Well what is the plan, Master?" McNair asked.

"You two head around back and see that he doesn't flee. I'll go in through the front," Voldemort said. She slid her wand out of her sleeve, holding it in her hand as the two men flanked the shack.

She waited until they were in position before she moved on the door. She paused to examine it, looking for any sign of magic more advanced than the simple intruder spells he'd put on it. As far as she could tell he hadn't rigged anything more sinister. He probably figured he could deal with most common intruders and that causing an accidental explosion would do more harm than good.

After a moment of waiting on Avery and McNair she raised her wand to the door. A simple burst of magic blew it off the hinges. She caught it in midair and waited. A moment later a flash of green light burst toward her through the open doorway. She flicked her wand, forcing the door to intercept the spell. The door burst into pieces as the killing curse hit it.

Voldemort slashed her wand in the direction that the light had flashed from. She heard a muffled cry from inside and smiled to herself as she stepped into the shack. She turned toward where she'd sent the door.

"Hello, Igor," she said, stepping around destroyed bits of the door. She paused for a moment to lower her hood. Two planks from it were pinning Igor Karkaroff to the wall. He spat, clearly trying to speak, but one of the planks was suffocating him, pinning his neck to the wall.

She summoned his wand to her with another flick of her own before stepping toward the back of the shack. She noticed Avery and McNair outside and waved for them to join her inside the building.

"Search him," she ordered McNair. He nodded and approached Igor Karkaroff. McNair rifled through Karkaroff's pockets and clothing. It didn't take long. Moments later McNair stepped back to her side.

"He has nothing, Master," McNair said. Voldemort nodded. She'd thought he might have a portkey or some other means of escape on him. McNair would have been smart enough to pull anything suspicious out. So she'd give him the benefit of the doubt for now, knowing full well he wouldn't want to face her wrath had he failed in such a simple task.

"Why did you flee, Igor, when your mark burned?" Voldemort asked. She slashed her wand downward, letting the planks that pinned him to the wall fall away. Igor Karkaroff landed on his hands and knees and gasped for air. Lord Voldemort counted to ten in her head, waiting for a response. When it didn't come she slashed her wand at Karkaroff again, knocking him backward against the wall.

"I'd asked you a question, Igor," she said coldly. Karkaroff forced his dark eyes to meet hers and gasped for air.

"I'd already betrayed you, Master," he gasped.

"Of course you did. Did you think you were the only one who tried to barter identities for freedom?" Lord Voldemort asked

"My Lord, I, I, I wasn't thinking straight. I…please forgive me," Karkaroff begged. "Please!"

"Oh Igor," Voldemort sighed. "How can I forgive you when I had to come find you?"

"Master, please!" Karkaroff gasped again. Tears were starting to well in his eyes as he stared up at her.

"Had you come to me, Igor. Everything would have been forgiven," Voldemort lied. "Had you simply returned you may have been useful. You were well placed and cleared. A pity you must die."

"Master no," Karkaroff begged. "I am still well placed. I can still recruit from inside the continent for you. I can still…"

"Crucio," Voldemort said, lazily pointing her wand at her former servant. Karkaroff's screams filled the shack. He was stupid, she thought, to hide so far away. This would have been so much difficult to plan and execute had he been in a populated area. But he'd likely never even thought of that. After seven seconds she lifted her wand off of him.

"Master," he begged immediately. She slashed her wand over him again. He shrieked once more as this time a chunk of flesh was ripped off of his chest. She slashed her wand back and another chunk splashed across the floor as it was ripped off his arm.

Every time he made a noise she did it again, and again, and again. Every little whimper and magic bit through muscle, broke bone, and spattered flesh around him. After moments there was very little skin left on his body, whole chunks were missing from his arms, legs, chest, and even part of his face. Avery looked away, stepping toward the door as the stench of death and fresh meat filled the tiny shack. McNair simply watched impassively.

Eventually, Igor Karkaroff made no more noises.

"Animal attack?" McNair asked, stepping toward the body and examining it.

"Yes," Voldemort said, examining her own handiwork.

"Are we done?" Avery said. Voldemort looked over to him. She tucked her own wand back into her pocket before snapping Karkaroff's in two and tossing it toward the bed. It landed on the wooden floor and rolled underneath the bed.

"Yes," Voldemort said. She raised her hood again and stepped outside of the shack. Avery and McNair followed her. Avery turned to look back at the building one last time before pointing his wand up into the sky.

"Mors-" he started. But Voldemort reached over and lowered his wand.

"No," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"They're still denying I'm alive," Voldemort said. "Let's not give them any excuse. Let them think Igor Karkaroff was mauled by an animal. It makes no difference to me."

"Yes Master," Avery said.

"What now, Master?" McNair asked.

"Continue as before. If I need your services I will contact you. Avery, any update on what I requested?" she asked.

"None, my Lord. I do not think I am going to be able to get it through proper channels. I've still got some private connections working on it. But the information is outdated. They can't tell if those recording it are just lazy, or if it really hasn't changed."

"Well for your case, I hope they figure it out," Voldemort said.

"Yes master," Avery responded quickly as they apparated away from the shack.

It was two weeks before Harry Potter got another chance to look at the diary. He'd found himself so busy with quidditch and homework that by the time everything he needed to accomplish was done, he was simply too tired to lose himself in the past.

Had he slept while watching the visions, had they been more dreams than memories, he'd have probably traveled back nightly. But he'd already pulled one all-nighter without even realizing it. And it had only taken one for him to realize just how poorly that left him the next day.

Quidditch had been more draining than his homework. Angelina pushed the team every bit as hard as Oliver Wood had in the previous years. Harry was starting to think she was every bit as crazy as their old captain.

Unlike practices under Wood, though, Harry noticed that they never really seemed to improve. Ron especially still had difficulty making even basic saves while being taunted by the crowd. And Angelina yelling did nothing to help his confidence. He really didn't like to hear Angelina yelling at him about Ron, either. He didn't have the heart to point out that she'd picked him for the team without any input from Harry. Or that he also had two brothers on the team who could help him. Instead, it fell to him to play chaser for extra practices in the evenings to try to get Ron up to speed.

He didn't think his efforts were helping any more than the organized team practices. But at least they could get away from Hermione and her homework obsession for a few hours here and there. Harry much preferred being on a broom to being lectured on which assignment he wasn't putting enough effort into.

None of his homework had been particularly difficult. Other fifth years were freaking out on a nightly basis. He was pretty sure Lavender Brown had some type of breakdown, but he'd been rushed off to quidditch practice before he could really see what happened there.

Sure, they had more homework, but he was more annoyed with the time it took to complete. Knowing the answers wasn't quite good enough. It still took time to write the correct number of words on the parchment to ensure full credit. Still, he'd managed to get it all done in a rather prompt manner. He was even ahead on his weekend assignments.

Of course, that was mostly just because he knew that Angelina would want to practice every waking moment they could before the match. And he knew that after the match the absolute last thing he would want to do is cram in his assignments.

A few nights before the match, though, he caved. He was sick of Ron talking about how he was rubbish. He couldn't get through to his friend that without confidence in his own ability, of course he was going to be rubbish. He was simply making it into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

So he went to bed early that Thursday evening. He knew he'd probably be cursing himself Friday, but he dug the journal out of his trunk and lay down in bed with it. Moments later he found himself walking up a path next to Emily Riddle.

She looked bored and dour. He got the distinct impression she was pouting, even though there was no one there to see it, her lips pressed tightly together. She looked to be rather lost in thought.

Harry followed her as she walked. He didn't really know what else to do. But he had no idea just what he could possibly be seeing. He looked around as they walked. Eventually, she paused and turned toward what Harry took to be some debris. But on closer examination he noticed it was some type of shack.

He heard a too familiar hissing noise from the house. It took a moment for the hisses to form into words. But that must have been what gave her pause. She stepped toward the shack, there were three snakes nailed to the door, and cut up bits of others around it. He noticed almost immediately that Emily had drawn her wand.

She stepped toward one of the dirty windows and peered inside. Harry watched as she gagged and stepped back from the shack, moving quickly away from it. Harry stepped to the window as she retreated. Inside a naked, rather unkempt man was cutting up bits of another snake and eating them raw. He appeared to be muttering some sort of song in parseltongue as he did. He paused for a moment and decided his best course of action was to follow Emily down the path.

"You!" a voice hissed behind them. Emily jumped and turned, turning to see the man who had been eating the snake as he burst from the hovel.

"What?" Emily stuttered. She spoke in English. That didn't stop the man from hissing back at her.

"Get back in here and clean! What were you thinking? Running off with that muggle! And now crawling back to us!?" the man hissed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Emily said.

"Get in here Merope!" the man hissed again. Emily's eyes hardened. She was about to say something but the man pointed his wand at her. Harry noticed it was covered in what he could only assume was entrails from a snake.

"Crucio!" he said. Emily fell to her hands and knees, landing on the muddy ground and shrieked. Even in the memory the sound caused a shiver to run up his spine. She forced herself to look up at him. Harry counted to twenty-five before the man lifted the curse. Somewhere in there it began to rain.

"Inside! Now!" He ordered. Emily raised her right hand. Harry noticed it was trembling. The man turned to move back into the shack, as if he expected full compliance from her.

"Stupefy," she choked out. Harry saw tears streaking down her face. The red light looked weak, but it impacted on the unkempt man's back. He collapsed in the doorway. Emily pulled herself to her feet. She looked down at the mud staining her clothing and made a face. She took a shaky step toward the man, seeming to regain her composure as she moved. She moved to his body and leaned down, pulling the wand from his fingers.

When she grabbed his wand she noticed something else. An ornate ring was on the man's finger. Harry recognized the symbol on it instantly. He'd seen the symbol on Slytherin robes for years. She pulled the ring off of his finger and placed it around the man's wand.

She stared at it for a moment, before looking around the one room shack. There wasn't anyone else inside. She used the man's wand to move his body fully inside, letting it rest on the snake he had been mutilating.

She stepped back outside. Harry noticed she was moving much slower. Her arms were still shaking. She wrapped them around herself for a moment and muttered quietly.

"Merope…not Mary. They'd said she was weak…" it was just a whisper into the evening. She frowned as she said it, as if she wasn't sure exactly what she felt about it. She looked up in the direction she'd been walking before. Harry watched as she took a very deep breath, as if she was coming to terms with something, steeling herself against something. And then she stepped up the path.

He recognized the house immediately. It was in much better shape than when he'd seen it in visions. It was much better kept than the houses in the village where Emily was residing. She walked up to the iron gate and gazed up at it. The gardens were well kept, Harry saw, and there were lights on inside the home.

She hesitated as she stood by the gate. Harry wondered exactly what she was thinking. He knew what waited inside that house. The Riddle House, he'd already heard it called. He knew she had to be thinking that if someone below had assumed she was someone named Merope, that she was likely to find some type of answer inside The Riddle House.

Harry watched as she stepped through the gate and walked directly up to the door. She knocked twice on the door and waiting, wrapping her arms around herself again. Harry could see she was shivering.

"Goodness!" an older woman exclaimed as she opened the door. "What happened to you?"

"I got lost on the way to Great Hangleton," Emily said. "And tripped into some mud. Could I maybe sit by the fire for a bit?"

"Of course!" the woman said. "Come with me I'll get some tea brought too."

"Thank you," Emily said. She stepped into the house, pausing in the foyer. She pulled off her muddy boots and followed after the woman. Moments later she sat on a small rug before a roaring fire, sighing as her clothing dried.

"Are you the housekeeper?" Emily asked as the woman returned with tea.

"Oh no. No staff here any longer. Maybe after the war," the woman said. "I'm Mary Riddle. I'm the lady of the house." Harry saw Emily gag on her tea. But she composed herself after a moment.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Emily," she said.

"No last name?" the woman asked. Emily swallowed hard.

"Uhm, well," she muttered.

"Yes?" Mrs. Riddle said.

"It's Riddle," Emily paused. "Emily Riddle." And the woman gasped.

"Oh my God," she said, her eyes going wide. "Thomas! Tom! Get in here!"

"What? No. I'm sure it's a coincidence," she said hastily. Mary waived a hand airily.

"Nonsense. You're what? About sixteen? It's been sixteen years since. Well, anyway," she kept talking. Emily frowned. A moment later the door opened and two men entered. One was older, looking closer in age to Mary Riddle. The other was younger. They both looked exceptionally alike.

"Yes Mary?" the older man asked.

"We have a guest, Thomas" she smiled warmly.

"Why would you invite her in, Mary," Thomas snapped harshly. The older woman rolled her eyes at her husband.

"This is Emily," Mary said.

"Hello," Emily said quietly.

"What's this about?" the younger man said. His eyes turned from Mary to Emily and he paused.

"No," he said.

"I think she's yours, Tom," Mary said.

"No," Tom spat.

"What?" the elder, Thomas, said.

"Tom told me he left that girl when she was pregnant," Mary said.

"The witch," Tom spat.

"Oh hush now," Mary said. "You were the one who ran off with her. Gave us quite the fight you know."

"She befuddled me!" Tom said. "I didn't care for her. I still don't!"

"Tom," Mary said. "You've been miserable for nearly two decades since."

"She ruined my life! I became a laughing stock in the village. No one was interested in me!" he spat. "Even as the heir to this house!"

"Tom, Look at her!" Mary said. Tom turned his attention to Emily. She stood up from the fire, smoothing her muddy dress out and smiled. It was a forced smile, like she clearly didn't know what to expect.

But Harry recognized it. He saw something else there on her face. Her eyes were wide and filled with hope. She stared at Tom, bright eyed. Harry could tell what she was thinking. That maybe, in this place of relative opulence, just maybe she had found something akin to a family.

"Hello," she said, staring at Tom. She stepped toward him, Tom stepped away from her.

"She looks like her," Tom spat. "She's probably a witch like her."

"Oh Tom that's not nice," Mary said.

"Why did you come here?" Thomas said.

"I, uhm, well. I heard there was a Riddle House and I wanted to check it out," she admitted carefully. Her eyes flashed to the patriarch.

"So this could all just be a ruse of some sort. Perhaps someone in the village said you looked like the Gaunt bitch and you used the story to your advantage," Thomas said.

"Oh Thomas that's ridiculous," Mary said.

"It was pure coincidence I'm even here," Emily frowned. Her expression darkened though. "I'm staying with the Bennett's in Great Hangleton. I was evacuated there from the orphanage I live at in London."

"Fine, and you want to worm your way in here," Thomas said.

"Probably wants the house," Tom said. He stepped further away from her.

"I'll leave," Emily said, moving toward the door.

"Nonsense, it's pouring out," Mary said.

"The sooner she is gone the better," Tom said. "They have powers, mother. They can make you do things you didn't want to. They can control you."

"That's nonsense," Mary said. "But if you're going to be cruel to your daughter. Well, I'm not going to stand for that, Tom. Come, Emily, let's get you into something clean and find you're a bedroom."

"Mother do not let her stay," Tom said.

"I will not turn away my granddaughter!" Mary spat.

"Granddaughter…" Thomas said quietly, his gaze shifting over toward his son. Mary put an arm around Emily and pulled her from the room. Harry followed them up the stairs and to a prepared guest room. Mary let Emily in before slipping from the room, stating she would find her some clothing.

Harry watched as Emily just stood in the middle of the room. Her expression rather blank. He could tell she had no idea what she was doing there. That really, she'd learned all she figured she'd be able to learn. She'd met her father and her grandparents. And he could tell she didn't want to be there any longer. Mary returned a few moments later with a nightgown.

"It may not fit quite right but it's clean," she said, dropping it onto the bed.

"Thank you," Emily said.

"It's nothing," Mary responded. "I'll talk to them. They'll come around."

"I'll leave in the morning," Emily said.

"Nonsense," Mary snapped. "You're home." And then she hugged the younger girl tightly and wished her a good night with a kiss on the forehead.

Harry watched her leave. He stared at the closed door for a few moments. He could imagine what Emily was feeling without having to look at her. When he turned his gaze back to her she'd already changed into the nightgown. She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Harry noticed immediately that tears were flowing freely from her eyes.

She didn't sleep. Harry wasn't sure if she could. She cried for a few hours, silently. She rolled around on the bed, she clutched the pillow, and she let the relief of it all flush through her. He wondered if she was thinking of having a place to holiday, or somewhere to come back to after school. Eventually, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Time passed, Harry saw the clock in the room speed up. It slowed down at exactly six minutes past midnight. He heard the door open at the same time she did. She sat up on the bed as Tom Riddle stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Hello," she said quietly. Harry saw the revolver in his hand before Emily did. He reached out toward him before he remembered he had no control over the events.

"You were supposed to be asleep," he said.

"Well I'm not," she responded, shifting against the headboard. She added as an afterthought, "Father."

"This would have been easier had you been asleep," he said.

"Don't do this," she said quietly. "I'll leave in the morning. I promise. I just wanted to know."

"I will never let your kind control me again," he said. He raised the revolver and pulled the trigger. The bang was deafening, and the flash of silvery light that erupted from inches from Emily was blinding. Five more shots rang out in the small room.

"Witch!" Tom gasped at her. Harry saw her eyes narrow in fury. But she didn't move. She held up a wand, the wand she'd taken from the man in the hovel, and pointed it at him.

"Don't move," she said quietly. But he charged her. His hands lunged toward her throat.

"Avada Kedavra," she said. The green light was blinding. Tom Riddle fell on to Emily. For the briefest of moments they looked almost like lovers. But she pushed the corpse off of her body.

"No!" Thomas Riddle yelled from the door. Harry turned to see him rush into the room. He too was holding a revolver. He managed one shot, the bullet grazing through the side of the borrowed nightgown. It grazed over her skin. She yelped and turned her wand on him, reacting more on instinct than anything else.

"Avada Kedavra," she said again. Thomas Riddle fell in a heap at the entrance to the bedroom. Emily pulled herself from the bed and looked at the two Riddle men. When she turned to the bedroom door she saw Mary Riddle standing there, tears rolling freely down her face.

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," Emily said quietly.

"You're evil," Mary said, her eyes hardening on the younger woman.

"No, I," Emily started.

"Evil!" Mary said. And she turned and ran. Emily raised her wand, knowing that if she didn't, that she'd spend the rest of her life incarcerated. She already expected the ministry to show up in moments.

"Avada Kedavra," she said once more. Mary Riddle's body slipped and fell down the stairs, bones snapping as she impacted on them. She landed in a heap in the foyer. Emily watched the body fall. Harry could see she was trembling.

She grabbed her wand from the bedside table, holding both it and the stolen one in her right hand before bolting from the bedroom.

She moved quickly to the foyer. She stepped over the body of the Riddle Matriarch and moved to where she'd left her boots. She pulled them on fled from the house, locking the doors behind her with the stolen wand as she did.

Harry watched as she ran. He could barely keep up with her, even in the memory, until she was nearly back to the shack. She collapsed onto her hands and knees and vomited onto the muddy ground. Some of it, Harry noticed, caught in her hair as it fell forward around her face. She vomited again, moments later. And then just gagged and coughed.

She looked up toward the shack. Then down toward where her hand still gripped the stolen wand. She pulled the ring off of it before she threw it toward the shack as she scrambled back to her feet and ran down the path some more. After about fifty feet she collapsed once more into the mud. She heaved again and again. Harry wanted to step up behind her and pull her hair behind her shoulders. But this time she didn't vomit. She just gasped for air.

She rose again and continued down the path. But she only made it a few more steps before she collapsed. Harry stood over her. She was laying on the muddy ground on her back. The white nightgown was now almost entirely brown. It was ripped in a few additional places now. She lay there, panting, her chest rising and falling, her hair caked with mud and sick.

Emily closed her eyes for a few moments. Harry thought she was going to pass out right there, laying on the muddy ground with the rain falling onto her. But instead she vanished. And then a moment later Harry found her laying on the floor of the barn where she worked on cars with Lieutenant Price, her wand clutched tightly in her hand.

She sat up, leaning against the wall of the barn, panting with exertion from the run. Harry watched for a moment as she closed her eyes.

But he didn't need to see more. He didn't want to see more. Instead he willed himself from the diary. When he was safely back in Hogwarts he stared up at the curtains of his bed. He checked his watch on the bedside table. It was barely after midnight, not nearly as late as he thought it would be. He put the journal beside the glass of water he kept there and stared at the ceiling.

He did not sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Chapter 10

Banned for life. He was banned from playing quidditch at Hogwarts for life. The words rang through Harry Potter's head hours after the match. He spent far too long going over every single aspect of the post-match. He was up way too late thinking of every single minute detail that occurred from the point he'd caught the snitch on.

He remembered catching the snitch. He remembered being thrilled with beating Slytherin and Malfoy once more. Nothing ever quite felt as good as beating Malfoy. But then Malfoy had been mouthing off. He'd been insulting the Weasley's. And Harry had felt his blood boil over.

His mind had filled with one thought. He wanted nothing more than to get Malfoy. He wanted so much more than to just start hitting him, too. He wanted to go back up to his trunk and get the pocket knife he'd been given and stab him. He wanted to curse him with every single spell he knew. He wanted to see how Malfoy would like thirty seconds of the Cruciatus Curse.

He wanted to break him. He wanted Malfoy to be left nothing more than a mindless, whimpering husk incapable of movement, of thought, of anything. And when he was done with all of that. When Malfoy was finally less than the dirt. He was going to kill him.

There was nothing more to be said about it. He knew, instantly, that Malfoy's kind was not the kind that one could really reason with. He knew that there wouldn't be much to gain by simply trading barbs with him. That no matter what he did, Malfoy would always be there trying to demean his achievements That Malfoy would always be looking for a way to tout himself as superior to Harry Potter, despite all evidence to the contrary.

And he knew, instantly, that the only way to end that would be to end Draco Malfoy.

So he decided he would kill Draco Malfoy.

His body reacted before his brain could really formulate everything, though. And somewhere in the middle of that he'd lunged at Malfoy. And a scuffle had ensued. Before he'd even really realized that he wanted to kill Malfoy he was being pulled away. And Umbridge was passing her judgement. Her unilateral judgement that did not fit the crime. She'd even gone as far as to ban a player that hadn't even been involved in the altercation.

There was no way it should have been allowed. There was no way it shouldn't have been overruled. But there it was. And no one was doing anything about it. His rage had immediately shifted to Professor Umbridge.

He'd watched as she'd taken his Firebolt. She'd chained it together with Fred and George's brooms and marched away triumphantly. The entire Slytherin house cheering her on as she moved away. Harry stared silently and made up his mind.

"Hermione give me your wand," he said, holding his hand out to her, his eyes not leaving Umbridge.

"What? Why Harry?" she said.

"Give me your wand so I can kill her," he said coldly.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped.

"Now!" he yelled. Hermione sniffed and stepped away from him.

"Mate," Ron said. "I know you're angry."

"Angry?!" Harry yelled. "I'm not angry. I'm going to kill her. She cannot keep getting away with it. If no one will stop her I will. I'll show her." He could sense Hermione backing away from him. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him. He didn't care, though. He knew someone had to stand up to her. He knew he was on the right track. He knew exactly what needed to be done.

"Harry calm down," Ron said sharply. Harry paused at that as Umbridge disappeared into the castle. He could hear Hermione sniffling at his side. He took a deep breath.

"Sorry for yelling, Hermione," he said quietly.

"Harry," she responded softly. "You were, well, you were being serious."

"I was just angry," he said, taking another deep breath. He could feel the anger inside of him still, but it wasn't bubbling over the service. He could compose himself. He could push it down and focus on something else.

"Harry," she started but he waved her off.

"We need to fight her, Hermione," he said. "She can't win. She can't turn Hogwarts into something unrecognizable. We need to find a way to undermine her."

"So you want to go ahead with the defense group?" Ron asked.

"Yes," he said. "We need to find a place to practice immediately."

"I'll look for something. I'm sure there's something in _Hogwarts, A History_ ," Hermione said excitedly. Harry just nodded at her and walked back to the Gryffindor common room with the rest of the team.

The whole house commiserated with he and the Weasley twins. Eventually, Harry simply grew sick of listening to everyone. His mind was filled with images of what he wanted to do to get his revenge on Dolores Umbridge and Draco Malfoy. He tried to push the thoughts from his head. And eventually, he managed to do so.

But he only managed to do so by thinking of Emily Riddle. And that just brought his mind back to what he'd seen. And that made him more and more conflicted. She acted horribly. She'd been evil. Totally evil. Nothing she'd done could be remotely forgivable.

Yet he'd ended the memory staring at something that certainly didn't resemble a Dark Lord. She'd been caked in mud and sick. She'd been trembling in the corner of a barn. She'd looked completely and utterly miserable, lost, and like she wasn't far from death herself. Like she was ready to completely give up.

But he couldn't feel pity for her. He didn't know if she'd expected him to. But he couldn't. She'd killed three people. She'd killed three people that did not need to die. There was absolutely no reason for them to be killed. She could have stunned them. She could have simply not gone. But she had. And she'd killed them. And it was utterly horrible.

He couldn't sleep that night either. After all the other boys in his dormitory had gone to bed he got out of his. He dug his invisibility cloak and his bag out of his trunk and threw it on, stepping out of the dormitory and moving out of the common room.

He didn't really know where he was going to go when he left. He brought his books mostly in case he couldn't sleep or think of anything. At worst then he could exhaust himself doing some of the reading.

So he walked through the castle, looking for something to do to distract himself. He thought about trying to break into the Slytherin common room, or to Umbridge's quarters. But hours after his lifelong ban he was calmer than he'd been right after. The anger had washed into a casual acceptance. He knew he couldn't do anything about it yet. But he'd come up with something.

He paced up and down the hallways. Whenever he saw a teacher or a ghost on patrol he turned and went the other way. No one seems to notice him in the least. Eventually, he found himself climbing the steps toward the owlry. He didn't really know why. Once he stepped in Hedwig hooted and landed next to him. She pecked at him impatiently and then peered toward his bag.

When she realized he didn't have any owl treats on him she ruffled her wings and flew up toward the higher perches and glared down at him. He rolled his eyes at her but walked over to the magical dispenser that Hagrid kept filled with treats for the owls. He took a few out and held them in his hand, looking up at Hedwig.

She continued to glare at him as he offered the treats up. But eventually her stomach won and she fluttered back down to him and ate them out of his hand. She rewarded him by letting him ruffle her feathers.

He paused for a minute and then took out some parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. He stared down at the parchment before he started writing. The words flowed out of him nearly instantly. They were harsher than he would have liked. But there was catharsis in writing them. He kept writing.

 _Emily,_

 _Mary Riddle was right. You are evil. She did not deserve that fate. None of them deserved that fate. Why would you even do that? They were not any sort of actual threat to you. You could have been out of there in a heartbeat. You even apparated away after. Your actions were nothing but evil._

 _Why would you even do that? They were your family. You murdered your own family. You may not have known them, but things could have changed. I don't understand why you didn't just stun them and leave. Surely you wanted a family. Otherwise why would you have even gone?_

 _I'm going to destroy your diary again. I don't know what you wanted me to see in there. I don't know what your intentions were. But I do not want to see any more. You are evil. That is all that there really is to it. You cannot justify what you did. No matter how hard you will try._

 _Why is it always good people with you, too? My parents didn't deserve to die. You practically admitted that yourself. Mary Riddle was kind and happy and obviously looking forward to learning about her granddaughter. And you killed her. For no real reason._

 _You tried to tell me you were not for the Pureblood Agenda. But you ally yourself with that agenda. You ally yourself with horrible people. Your followers tortured my friend Neville's parents to insanity. They took his family away from him. You took my family away from me._

 _And you took Cedric Diggory away from his family. Whatever the Death Eater made Krum do to him in the maze, he still hasn't recovered. I don't care how you will spin it. I don't care if you say they're acting on their own. Cedric Diggory will never leave St. Mungo's hospital and it was done in your name. He was kind and good and nice and deserved way more than that._

 _And the people you support. Lucius Malfoy is evil. Severus Snape is evil. Dolores Umbridge is evil. She may as well be one of yours with the pureblood mania she's not doing much to hide. Why couldn't you have rid the world of them? Why couldn't you have at least tried to make it better than when you entered it? You rid the world of good so evil will propagate. You are a terrible person and I detest every single thing about you._

 _I do not want you to reply. I do not want you to contact me. I want you to go away. I want you to disappear forever. I never want to see you again._

He didn't sign it. He didn't think he needed to. He folded it over and tucked it into an envelope, writing Emily Riddle on the front of it. He handed it to Hedwig. She stared at him for a moment, ruffling her feathers in annoyance. He gave her another owl treat and she took off. He watched her disappear into the darkness.

He threw the cloak back over his body and stepped out of the Owlry. He didn't really want to go back to the common room yet. He wasn't tired and he knew he wouldn't sleep, even if he did. So instead he paced through the castle hallways.

He wandered up and down the staircases, not really knowing which one he should get off at, wishing he'd brought the Marauder's Map so he would know what ghosts or teachers were about. But the cloak was good enough to hide him for now.

After an hour or so he stopped on the seventh floor. He didn't really know why. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. He stepped onto the landing and looked around. He wandered up and down the hallway a couple of times. He didn't really have anything in mind. He stared at one of the empty walls for a moment, before leaning against a nearby tapestry.

Something was drawing him to this spot. He wasn't exactly sure what it was. But it reminded him of the dreams he'd had earlier in the summer when he'd been walking toward a doorway. Something about this spot just seemed oddly familiar. He kept looking at the wall for a moment.

Eventually, though, he realized that staring at a wall was a pretty pointless endeavor. He knew if he wasn't going to sleep at all that he should at least attempt to do something productive. He needed a secretive place where they could practice for the defense club Hermione wanted to form.

He paced up and down the hallway, not really expecting anything from a relatively open area of the castle. But he peered in each of the rooms in turn, taking one side of the hallway his first time. And then the other side of the hallway on his way back. He didn't discover anything he hadn't expected to be there. He sighed, feeling mildly disappointed, and walked down the middle of the corridor once more. Something in his mind told him to give it one more look before heading away. As he passed the tapestry again he heard something. He spun around and saw a door appear on the wall across the way.

He stepped over toward it, knowing for sure it hadn't been there a few moments ago. He stepped up toward it and opened the door before stepping inside.

It was a classroom. A very standard, albeit larger than normal classroom, three rows of desks lined up perfectly through the middle of the room. A larger desk, presumably for a teacher, sat at one end, in front of a chalk board. His first thought was that it would have been ideal for practicing defense, except that he'd have to figure out a way to get required books and targets to practice on to the room. Almost as soon as he thought that, books and targets appeared in one corner.

He tilted his head and looked around the room once more and thought to himself that it would be more useful without the desks. They immediately vanished. He looked around the room and smirked to himself. He had to think back on exactly what he did to make it appear. He figured it had to be the pacing with the idea of needing someplace to train. Something about that just seemed right in his head.

He turned around and surveyed the room. He paused and thought that he'd really like a bed and some pajamas so he did not have to go back Gryffindor tower to sleep that night. The room shrank around him until it was alarmingly similar to his bedroom at the Dursley's. That annoyed him, but not enough to not change and eventually let sleep take him, rather happy that he didn't have to listen to the noises the other boys were making for one evening.

Hid mind wandered before he slept. Not really to anything in particular. He thought about Umbridge and Snape, and neither of those were pleasant so he thought about Ron and Hermione but that eventually shifted to Cho Chang. Somewhere in there his thoughts shifted to Emily Riddle standing before a copper tub, but then he fell asleep.

He woke up late the following morning. He was thankful that it was Sunday but when he looked outside and saw the weather his mind just shifted to quidditch. He supposed she couldn't ban him from flying in general, just quidditch play. He wondered if she had any actual precedent for taking his broom. But, he figured, worst case he could borrow a school broom and just fly around the grounds. If he avoided the pitch, she couldn't say he was trying to play quidditch.

He left the room shortly after waking and walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Both Ron and Hermione looked startled when he arrived.

"Where were you?" Hermione asked.

"Sent an owl," Harry half lied.

"To who?" she asked.

"Sirius," Harry said quickly.

"Harry he told us not to do that! You know the mail is being tracked!" Hermione said.

"Well I didn't write his name on it. And I didn't say anything in it past describing the quidditch match and explaining my ban," Harry lied quickly.

"Still they could find him!" Hermione said.

"If they can, then the charms on the house are pretty pointless," Harry said. Hermione opened her mouth but didn't comment. She just glared at him for a moment.

"What are we going to do today?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged.

"I need to finish my divination logs and potions essay," Harry said. "I'm surprised Angelina isn't having tryouts today already."

"She is but not until after lunch," Ron said.

"Oh," Harry replied, taking some eggs and potatoes off of the table and eating them slowly.

"Can we talk, Harry?" Hermione asked, almost nervously. Harry turned to look at her.

"About what?" Harry responded.

"You-Know-Who," Hermione said quickly.

"Hermione," Ron started.

"What's about her?" Harry asked.

"I think she lied to you when she told you what her name was," Hermione said.

"I don't," Harry said.

"But Harry," Hermione started. "I did some research and well. It just doesn't make sense."

"Why not?" Harry asked. His shoulders tensed. He doubted everyone would be calling her Emily in the diary if it wasn't true. But he knew better than to completely dismiss Hermione.

"Well, here," she said, pulling out copies of old newspapers. She handed the first to him and he stared down at it. It was an old photograph. He looked at it for a moment and, in the corner, could see a rather dour looking Emily in the corner. She wore dark dragonhides dueling armor and had her hair done in a loose bob. There were six other men in the photograph. The only one Harry recognized was a younger Albus Dumbledore.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"It's taken after the first battle of Nurmengad," Hermione said.

"Which was?" Harry asked. Ron stared at him as if he couldn't quite believe that question. But Harry shrugged his shoulders. History of Magic had barely made it into the fifteenth century yet, much less the twentieth.

"It's when the allied forces and the ICW surrounded Grindelwald. It was about two weeks before Dumbledore dueled Grindelwald and ended the war," Ron said.

"Well what does that matter?" Harry asked.

"Emily Riddle fought with Albus Dumbledore in that battle, Harry. She hadn't even graduated yet. Why would You-Know-Who be fighting against Grindelwald?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "Voldemort's rise came about well after that didn't it? Why would it be mutually exclusive?"

"Well I guess it wouldn't have to be but wouldn't that be a fairly big ideology shift?" Hermione asked.

"I guess," Harry said.

"And it's not all," she said, pulling out another piece of paper. She offered it to him.

"Just tell me what it says," Harry said.

"Well it's an obituary," Hermione said. "Emily Riddle died in 1957." Harry blinked and stared at her for a moment, before talking the paper from her. He stared down at it and sure enough, it was and old Prophet and there was a small blub about Emily Riddle. The top of the article clearly said Emily Riddle: December 31, 1926 – September 1, 1957. He blinked down at it a few times

"I still don't think it's true," Harry said. "There has to be more to the story."

"Harry, I think the more important question is why did she lie to you?" Hermione said.

"She didn't, Hermione," Harry argued, wondering why he was defending her. Why he somehow just knew Hermione was wrong. "Look, Hermione, I've seen her. And this is what she looks like." He pointed to the picture.

"Appearances are easily altered, Harry," Hermione said.

"I don't know that she had time when she crawled out of a cauldron," Harry snapped.

"But you don't know Harry!" Hermione argued.

"I'm going to go do my potions essay," Harry said. Hermione frowned at him, but seemed to realize she wasn't going to win if she pressed the argument.

"Would you like help?" she asked.

"No, I'll be fine," he said, getting up from the table. He heard Ron whisper something to her but he didn't catch the words as he left. He knew, though, that he wasn't going to work on his potions essay. He knew that less than twelve hours after he told Emily he would be destroying her diary, he was going to venture back into it. He just hoped something better would come of it.

Emily Riddle leaned against the wall, panting. Harry watched her. He tensed in the memory. He wanted absolutely nothing more than to curse her where she sat. But he knew he couldn't do that. So he just waited for the memory to continue.

After a couple of minutes she pulled herself to her feet. She looked around for something to do, still in her mud stained gown, her hair clumping together. She saw one of the vehicles in the corner. It looked like one of the soldiers had tried to drive it through the woods. Somehow, they'd gotten the front grill filled with bits of foliage. She busied herself trying to pull it all out.

She fell backwards onto her ass after one rather large tug on one of the branches, cursing rather loudly as she did.

"Emily?" a voice said from behind her as she stood and went back to the branches.

"I couldn't sleep," she said defensively.

"Did you see Lieutenant Billings?" Martin Price asked.

"No," Emily said. "I just got down here."

"You must have just missed him," Lieutenant Price said.

"What happened?" she asked tensely.

"Someone reported shorts fired in Little Hangleton about five minutes ago. Lieutenant Billings was a detective before the war. He's going with the police to help out," Price explained.

"Oh" Emily said. She went back to pulling on the branches stuck in the car. The ones left weren't really budging. "What happened?"

"No idea yet it was just reported a couple minutes ago," Price said. He stepped up behind her and reached into his pocket as he saw what she was doing. He offered something to her.

"What's this for?" she asked, looking at it.

"Unfold it, cut them off and shave them down," he said, gesturing to the branches.

"Oh," she said, unfolding the knife. "A knife." She looked down at it carefully before kneeling before the grill and doing as he said. She managed to reduce the branches enough to get them out. Price stood behind her and watched, leaning on his cane.

"Anyway, it sounds like it might have been a murder," Price said as he watched her work. Both he and Harry had long since learned that it was best to not offer Emily any help when she was focused on a task.

"Oh," she said quietly. She then offered the knife back to him.

"Keep it," he said. "Everyone should have a good knife."

"Uhm. Thanks," she said. She then turned to look at him. He blinked and looked back at her.

"Christ Emily, what happened to you?" Martin asked.

"I slipped in the mud," Emily said quickly.

"And rolled around like a pig? We need to get you cleaned up," he said quickly, staring down at her. "Or the Bennett's will kill you if you show up looking like that."

"Well I can't really sneak in I'll drag mud everywhere," she frowned.

"You can use our bath. Billings will be gone for hours and we trek mud in anyway," Price said. He took her arm and started pulling her from the barn. They walked slowly, at his pace, back to the house. Emily stopped in the threshold, frowning down at the pristine wood floors as she did.

"Uhm…I'm really a mess and they just cleaned," Emily said. Martin laughed and then scooped her into his arms.

"You are," he nodded.

"What are you doing?!" she shrieked.

"Quiet or you'll wake up the Bennett's," Martin said calmly. Emily just glared at him. He carried her the entire way to the bathroom. It was only fifteen or so steps. But he took every other one with a wince. Each step was a little slower than the last, but finally, they stepped inside. It was virtually identical to the one upstairs. Emily squirmed out of his arms and moved to the tub. Harry saw she left small muddy footprints on the ground in her wake.

"Can you, uh, sneak upstairs?" she asked carefully.

"Probably," Martin said.

"My bedroom is at the end of the hallway if you take a left up the stairs. Can you find me a clean gown?" Emily asked. She looked back to the tub and started running the water. He watched her for a moment before turning to limp out of the bathroom. Emily watched him go before she slid the gown off of her body. She balled it up into a muddy mess and tossed it into the corner.

Harry blinked, realizing this scene was alarmingly similar to before. He swallowed hard, waiting for it to fast forward as it had in the past, waiting for images to speed by. But they didn't. Instead, Emily reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She tossed it in the direction of the nightgown.

Harry stood behind her, chewing on his bottom lip. He couldn't bring himself to move. His mind was telling him to step around her, to look at her, to do anything. But he couldn't. Instead he watched as she ran a hand through her hair. She winced at it and then turned back to the tub. It was filling quickly. She gauged the temperature with her hand before she peeled her panties off. She kicked them toward her other clothing.

He couldn't help but stare. He swallowed hard as she stepped over the edge of the tub and then turned as she sank into the water. She was staring directly at him without seeing him. He bit his lip as her body was slowly obscured underneath the water.

She was skinny like he was. And her skin was pale even in the dark bathroom. It didn't matter that her body was currently caked in grime. He didn't notice any of that as he stared at her. He couldn't bring himself to stop. He wondered briefly about the nutrition at the orphanage. Still, he'd seen her at meals and she never really ate much. But despite her petite frame she still managed an hourglass figure. Her legs were thin and soft looking, merging gently into her hips, and then tapering upward to her waist.

She traced her fingers over her flat stomach as she sank into the water. Once she settled down on the tub she let her arms dangle over the sides. The water wasn't deep enough yet to fully cover her. Harry kept staring.

He hadn't really taken note of her figure when she was clothed and walking around the town. And he didn't really have anything to compare her to. Her breasts, he thought, looked to be on the small side. Her nipples were an oddly alluring pastel pink. He simply couldn't bring himself to look away from the first living naked woman he'd laid eyes on.

Harry watched as she dunked her head under the water, rinsing it out as best she could underneath the water. She emerged and sat up. Harry watched as the droplets of water slid down her body. She looked around for a moment and then frowned at the washcloth on the counter and not near the tub.

A knock on the door; however, turned her attention to that.

"You can come in," she said, turning off the water in the now full tub.

"Oh are you decent?" he asked as he entered the room. His eyes went wide and he blushed a dark red as he saw her in the tub. He nearly fumbled the clothing he was carrying as he saw her.

"No," Emily said. "But I'm going to need a hand anyway. Pull up a chair and a washcloth and help me, please?" She eyed him as he spoke. Her eyes were wide and strangely innocent as Harry stared into them. He moved to the washcloth on the counter until he remembered she wasn't talking to him.

Martin took longer to make up his mind. But eventually he did as she asked. He slid padded wooden chair that had been resting in the corner of the room over toward her, moving it with his cane until it was next to the tub. Harry wasn't exactly sure why it had been there, but he assumed the man used it to counter-act his injured leg. He limped over to the counter for the cloth and moved back to the chair.

Lieutenant Price sat in the chair. He took a deep breath and dunked the cloth into the warm water. Emily sifted away from him, throwing her hair over the front of her left shoulder. Martin took the hint. He started rubbing her back and shoulders with the cloth, scrubbing off the grime of the day.

Emily let him. She cooed quietly at his touch. Martin didn't seem to notice. Eventually, though, she turned to face him. He just stared at, looking much like Harry felt. She smiles, flashing the one dimpled at him, but after a moment of confidence she flushed pink and looked away. But she took the cloth from him and continued washing herself.

"Can you get me a towel?" she asked, moments later. Martin nodded quickly and stood. He leaned on his cane and moved to the small closet, pulling a white fluffy towel from it. When he turned around Emily was out of the tub, dripping onto the floor. She stepped toward him and he wrapped the towel around her. Mostly, Harry suspected, so he didn't have to look at her naked any longer.

Martin wobbled slightly on his injured leg as she started to dry herself. He moved to sit back on the chair, leaning on his cane as he did as she moved over to where he'd left one of Jane Bennett's nightgowns.

Harry noticed that the older man seemed to do everything in his power to not look at the younger girl. She seemed to be doing her best to ignore him as well. She watched herself dry in the mirror. When she felt she was sufficiently dry she slid the towel up into her hair, rubbing vigorously at it for a few minutes.

When she finally gave up it was still damp and hanging lankly around her face. She ran her nails through it and pulled it backward before slipping into the nightgown, a short floral affair. She smoothed it down over her stomach and hips on instinct and then looked at Martin, flashing her one dimpled smile once more.

"Well I feel human again," she said.

"That is good to hear," Martin said. "You look better, too."

"Did I look that bad?" Emily blushed, looking rather embarrassed.

"Well, yeah, you were a mess," Martin blushed as he admitted to it.

"Better or worse than when I accidentally cut that oil line?" she asked.

"Well, about the same. But way less flammable," Martin laughed. She giggled with him. It was an odd sound, Harry thought. Her eyes focused on him and they both seemed to know exactly what was about to happen.

Emily stepped up to him. Slowly. She swayed her hips slightly as she walked, placing each foot in front of the other as she stepped to him. Martin swallowed hard but did not move out of his chair. She took six steps, six agonizingly slow steps, before she slipped onto his lap. She slid her arms gently around his neck, using him as support.

"Emily?" he whispers softly, letting his voice trail off. Harry could sense he was nervous. Emily didn't say anything. Instead she kissed him, very lightly, on the lips. She did not seem to be overly experienced, Harry thought, as she mostly just let her lips press against his. She did it twice. Martin stiffened underneath her, his shoulders tensing as her weight settled into place on him.

"Yes?" she whispered after the two brief kisses. She pressed herself down against him and look into his eyes. He bit his lip to suppress a groan.

"Should we be doing this?" he asked quietly after composing himself. She just nodded and kissed him again.

"Yes," she whispered against his lips. Harry watched as his arms shifted and wrapped around her. He watched as Martin started to kiss her back. He stared, shocked at the scene before him. Part of him wanted nothing more than to flee from the bathroom, the memory, the anything. But another part of him wanted to watch. And that part of him won.

They kissed for a long time. Martin seemed content to just stay like that. He closed his eyes and lost himself in Emily. But eventually she grew bolder. She slipped her hands between them, leaning back in his arms as she did. He watched as Emily fumbled with Martin's belt, and then his zipper, and then as her hand slipped into his trousers.

He watched as Martin froze. His eyes closed, his hands freezing on the small of her back. He watched as Emily pulled him free, a glint of determination in her eyes. He watched as she hiked her gown up to her waist, revealing her pale thighs as they wrapped around him, around the chair.

Harry watched as she lifted herself up, and then lowered herself onto him in one motion. She gasped loudly. He saw her eyes flash with pain as she did, and in that instant she seemed to realize noise was bad, so she buried her face in his neck, looking like a vampire as she bit him. Martin winced against her. His hands sliding to her hips and gripping her tightly.

She didn't move for a while. But eventually, she lifted her head from his neck and started to rock her hips gently. She gasped softly as she did and silenced herself by kissing him again.

This took much less time than the kissing. Harry watched as she kept rocking her body against his. Eventually they stopped kissing and she rested her forehead on his, smiling at him and panting against his lips. He just stared back, lifting his hips every now and again, his hands digging into her hips, holding her onto him.

Eventually, he gasped loudly and pulled her tightly to him. He pressed his hips upward, panting her name into the bathroom. She giggled quietly and rested against him, panting softly as well. Harry just stared at them.

She rested her forehead on his for a moment longer before kissing him again as his arms slid from her hips to around her once more. He held her to him and kissed the top of her head as she shifted to rest it on his chest.

They didn't move for a while. The memory flashed forward a moment later. By now, Harry knew that to mean that Emily had fallen asleep. But Martin shifted and that woke her up.

"Mmm?" she uttered quietly, lifting her head off of him and looking at him through heavily lidded eyes.

"We should get to bed," he said softly.

"Okay," she said quietly. Harry wasn't quite sure if she'd actually even heard what he said. But a moment later she slipped off of him, stretching her arms above her head and sliding onto her tiptoes to stretch her legs. She smoothed the gown over her legs again as she stood.

Martin stood as well, adjusting his clothing and blushing as he looked up at her. She stared back at him, smiling playfully at him. She winced as she took a step to the door.

"Are you okay?" he asked, nervously.

"I'm fine," she giggled. Again, Harry found the sound rather odd. Her eyes seemed brighter in the dark room as he stared at her. Really, as a whole, she seemed brighter. Perhaps it was just because she'd been so caked with mud and grime before.

"Are you sure?" Martin asked.

"Positive," Emily said. She stepped up to him and hugged him. He hugged her back. Harry could see Martin's confusion. It was like he knew something between them would be different. It was like he was waiting for her to ask something. He seemed rather hesitant about leaving the bathroom. But Emily didn't say anything until she broke away from the hug.

"Good night, Martin," she said, stepping toward her discarded clothing from before. She bundled it up and lifted it before heading toward the door.

"Good night, Emily," he said as he watched her leave. Harry noticed his eyes rested on her backside as she left. Harry followed Emily back to her bedroom.

She tossed the clothing into a corner and herself onto the bed as soon as she entered. For a few minutes she just lay there, face down in the pillows, before rolling over and staring up at the ceiling. She smiled at first, closing her eyes and sliding her hands down her sides. But after a few moments her expression darkened and she looked around the room.

She climbed out of the bed and moved toward the pile of clothing, fishing through it until she found her wand. Harry watched as she hesitated for a moment, seeming to debate something. Harry figured he had a pretty good idea what it was. She'd done magic, sure, and no one had come to find her. But she seemed to be wondering if it was worth it to do more.

She looked at herself in the mirror, though, her eyes flashing to her midsection, and then seemed to decide it most certainly was. She pointed the wand and muttered something under her breath. She winced a bit but a moment later she walked back to the bed. This time, she crawled under the covers and curled into a ball, letting sleep take her.

Harry watched the memory fast forward then. He watched her day to day. For the first week after she was jumpy. She didn't wander far from town, and she constantly seemed to be looking over her shoulder.

But once it became clear no one was going to come looking for her, she seemed to relax. She went back to working on cars with Lieutenant Price. They didn't have sex again. But they would walk around town here or there in their downtime. Sometimes, she would take his hand.

Martin found her one morning staring into the dusty window of a local music shop. It saw little use during the war. He stepped up behind her as Harry and Emily stared into the window.

"Do you play?" he asked, nodding to the violin she was staring at.

"A bit," she said.

"Just the violin?" he asked.

"And the piano," she responded. "We had to take lessons at the orphanage. It was a way for them to occupy us for quite a few hours in the day. While making the majority of us miserable as well."

"Do you miss it?" Martin asked.

"Sometimes," Emily said noncommittally.

"Excuse me," Martin said to an elderly man who stepped past the storefront.

"Yes Lieutenant?" the older man said.

"Do you know who owns this shop?" he asked.

"The Miller's," he said. "They live next door." He gestured to a door next to the shop. There was a light on.

"Thank you," Martin said. He stepped gingerly over to the door leading upstairs. He knocked loudly a couple of times.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" a middle aged woman answered the door.

"I'd like to buy a violin for my friend here, would you be the one I should speak to?" Martin asked congenially.

"Oh, of course," the woman smiled back at him. "Just let me get the keys to the shop and we can step over."

"No," Emily said, looking alarmed.

"Thank you," Martin smiled at her as she disappeared back into the house. He stared to walk over toward the door to the shop.

"Martin, don't buy me a violin," Emily said, frowning.

"Well I can't afford a piano and I don't think I'd be able to move one," Martin responded.

"Did we know which one we wanted?" the woman asked as she stepped out onto the street. She moved over to the shop door and unlocked it quickly, stepping in with Martin. He paused before reaching back and dragging Emily inside as well.

"Pick," he ordered.

"Martin I don't want you to do this," Emily said, crossing her arms over her chest. The shopkeeper looked annoyed as she spoke.

"Then you shouldn't have been starring longingly at them in the street for fifteen minutes. And you shouldn't have stared at this window every time we walked by," Martin said.

"Martin!" Emily scolded.

"Pick," Martin said, crossing his arms across his chest matching her posture. She glared at him. And then to Harry's surprise, she frowned and looked at the ground.

"I don't really know which to pick," she said demurely. "I just had an old beaten up one at the orphanage. With a cracked bow."

"Suggestions?" Martin asked, looking from Emily to the shopkeeper. She went and plucked one out of the window display. She examined it of a moment and offered it to Emily. She hesitated but took it.

"How's this one?" the woman asked. Emily examined the polished red-orange wood in her hands for a few moments before holding it up to her neck for a moment. The shopkeeper handed her a bow. She took it and, after a deep breath, pressed it to the strings. She played maybe ten notes before lowering it. Harry could she the blush on her cheeks.

"I like it," she said.

"Great," Martin smiled. "We'll take it."

"Perfect," the shopkeeper said. She took the violin and bow from her and put them into a case. Martin pulled out his wallet and paid without question as Emily stood near the door to the shop, not wanting to see the cost.

"Here you go," Martin said a moment later as he handed the case to her. She took it and blushed as they left the shop.

"Thank you," she said quietly as she took the case from him.

"You're welcome," Martin said. "But you have to play for us tonight after dinner."

"Oh," Emily looked alarmed. "I'm going to be really out of practice."

"We won't notice," Martin said. He walked her back to the house then.

Later that evening Harry watched as she, while looking rather embarrassed, did play a few sad sounding songs for the Bennett's and the Lieutenants. They clapped every time she finished one. Often she would comment that she forgot the rest, or needed some sheet music, or was just making things up. But they didn't seem to care.

After the third song she wasn't blushing anymore, but smiling proudly in the middle of the other adults. They cheered her on and, for a moment, Harry suspected she felt more at home there than she had anywhere else.

He wondered how it would end. She and Martin hadn't talked about him driving her to London again. He knew she'd have to leave here soon, the daily calendar in the corner showed it was August the twenty-eighth. But he wondered if she even wanted to as she smiled at the other adults in the room.

Still, he knew she returned to Hogwarts. He knew she was evil. He knew what she would become. But, as he stared at the young girl, hugging a young lieutenant with a violin in one hand and a bow in the other, he just couldn't picture it. For the first time in these memories she wasn't wearing a perpetually dour expression anymore. For the first time that he'd seen her, she actually looked happy.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Chapter Eleven

Emily Riddle took a deep breath as she stared into the mirror. She wore a coat over another of Jane Bennett's floral dresses. Her shrunken school trunk rested on the dresser before her. She pulled her hair back and took another breath before picking up the trunk and tucking it into a small purse she'd taken from the closet.

She slung it over her shoulder before stepping back to the bed. She picked up the violin case that she'd left there and turned to look around the room. She seemed to survey it, as if checking if everything was in place. She straightened the pillows on the bed before turning and leaving the room. She left the door open and walked slowly down the stairs.

It only took her a couple of moments to be outside of the small house. She looked back at it once, Harry thought he saw regret in her eyes, and she continued down toward the barn. She started moving more quickly as she drew closer to it.

Moments later she stepped inside. She slipped past a pile of straw and moved toward the vehicles she and Martin had been working on. Harry sat in the back of one of the open topped jeeps, next to where she'd put her violin case. He watched her as she topped off the gas tank with canisters of fuel, and then opened the large front door of the barn.

She moved back to it, slipping into the driver's seat. She took a moment to look in both mirrors before she reached into the purse she'd left on the passenger's seat and pulled out a solitary key. Before she could put it into the ignition, though, a voice spoke from the entry of the barn.

"I figured you'd try something like this," Lieutenant Martin Price said quietly. He was in full uniform still, despite the hour. He was leaning on his cane near the side of one of the doors.

"I need to get to London," she said.

"So you've said," he responded skeptically.

"I do," she said.

"What's so wrong with here?" he asked. "What makes Great Hangleton so unbearable?"

"Nothing," she frowned as she answered.

"Then why run back to the war?" Why go to London?" Martin asked.

"I told you. I won't be there long. I just need to get on a train to school," she responded.

"So you've said," Martin said again. He did not look like he believed her.

"I need to go," she said, sounding almost desperate.

"You should stay," he responded calmly. "The Bennett's love you. I….well. Anyway, this town isn't all bad. You could be happy here."

"No, Martin," she said sadly. "I can't be."

"Why not, Emily?" he asked.

"You wouldn't understand," she said.

"If it's because you feel like you should be doing your part. Because you feel like you should be involved with the war effort. Emily, well, trust me, it isn't that help wouldn't be appreciated but, well, you shouldn't endanger yourself," he pleaded.

"It's not that," she responded. "Just please let me go."

"No," Martin Price said firmly.

"Martin, please," she said.

"No," he said again. "I'm not going to let you go. I…well….I'll take you instead." Harry couldn't help but think he looked utterly defeated. Like he knew no matter what he said or tried so say she would not change her mind. He couldn't tell, though, if he was doing it because he felt he should. Or if he was doing it so he would be able to spend a few more hours with her.

"Really?" she looked alarmed.

"Yes," he said. "Now scoot over." He started toward the car. He threw a packed bag and his cane into the back next to her violin case.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm not letting you drive. You'll get us killed. It's dark and you don't have any clue what you're doing," he said as he approached the driver's side of the car. She slipped over to the passenger's seat and looked at him as he got in. He started the car and shifted it into gear. He hesitated for a moment before driving out of the barn and toward the road out of town.

Emily didn't say anything to him as they drove out of town. It was about ten minutes before she spoke up.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Martin just nodded. He looked over at her after a moment and then shook his head slowly.

"You didn't talk to the Bennett's did you?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I was going to write to them after I got to school to thank them for everything."

"Good," he said softly.

"I wanted to say something," she sighed. "But they wouldn't let me go then."

"And they shouldn't have," Martin responded. "They're going to kill me."

"Will you be okay with the base?" Emily asked.

"Yes," he responded. "I claimed a family emergency. I have a forty-eight hour pass."

"Oh. Well, that's good," Emily said, clearly not really knowing what to say. She frowned at him though. He smiled back.

"Well you are a little predictable," he said.

"I hope not," she scoffed.

"Well I'm sure you could surprise me still," Martin said jovially.

"I'm sure I could too," Emily responded. She looked out at the passing scenery and was quiet then. "How long of a drive should it be?"

"In the dark? I don't know. We'll be there well before your train, though," he said. "I'd think it will take us at least four hours. Probably closer to five or six."

"Okay," she said, yawning.

"And you're not going to fall asleep," Martin said, stifling a yawn as well. "Because if you do, then I'm going to. And then we're both going to die."

"Well, what should we do then?" Emily asked.

"Talk," Martin said.

"About what?" she asked.

"What do you study in school?" Martin asked. Emily looked away, staring to her side.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Emily said.

"Try me," he laughed.

"Well my favorite subject is transfiguration," Emily said. "That's methods of turning one object into another to better suit your needs."

"Clever," Martin laughed, clearly not believing her. "And your second favorite subject?"

"Potions," Emily nodded. "But I think that's just because I liked baking and cooking at the orphanage. Couldn't tell anyone that, mind you, or I'd have wound up on kitchen detail constantly. But I didn't mind doing it. They're similar, really."

"Quite domestic of you," Martin said. Emily nodded. Harry stared at her for a moment. He wondered just what she thought she was getting away with as she told him about school. Harry noticed that the car was moving faster than it should have been. He realized that the memories must have been fast forwarding, but still treating him to snippets of conversation.

"Oh yes. That's me. Domestic Emily," she laughed.

"So what do you want to do with all of that super useful knowledge once you've graduated?" Martin asked. Emily turned and looked back at him. She seemed to think about that for a few moments, mulling over the possibilities in her head.

"I think I'd like to teach," she said.

"Oh?" Martin asked. "Transfiguration?"

"I don't know. Possibly. I actually think I'd like to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts more," she said.

"Why's that?" he asked.

"It mixes theory and practice the most. One must actually understand the Dark Arts and then be able to counteract them. It's more than just doing something. Its understanding, thinking, and doing," Emily explained. "And I like the complexity of it, even if I find the name a little contrite."

"How so?" Martin asked.

"Well who's to say what's dark?" Emily asked.

"No idea," Martin said.

"Exactly!" Emily said. "It would be like calling a knife a dark object. Or a gun. It's not the tool, it's the usage."

"Makes sense to me," Martin said.

"And I think that we should spend more time looking into that. And dissecting that. Because I feel like we don't spent a great deal of time actually discussing the morality behind it. I feel like it's an area we don't fully understand. And that we should spend more time trying to fully comprehend it rather than just ruling it as evil," Emily said.

"You should write a book," Martin said.

"Well I suppose I could do a thesis on it," Emily said. "But I'd rather just lecture about it in a classroom environment."

"I meant with these stories," Martin said. "They're creative."

"Oh," Emily said. "Yeah I guess. I don't know that I could think of a plot at all."

"You could come up with something," Martin laughed. "It could be your very own modern day King Arthur!"

"If I thought about it long enough, maybe." Emily said quietly. "But I don't think I'll be doing that. I do not particularly enjoy writing."

"That's a shame," Martin said. "So really, favorite subject?"

"I guess I don't really have one," Emily said quietly.

"Oh. I liked math when I was in school," he said.

"I always knew you were strange," Emily said.

"Oh come on. There's nothing weird about liking math. Plenty of people like math. It's interesting and says a lot about the world. It's a great way for making sense of it all. Numbers can be a very impressive and interesting thing to stare at," Martin explained.

"I am about three seconds away from rolling out of this car and walking to London," Emily said. She smiled playfully at him as he spoke.

Harry listened carefully. The topic shifted from school to books. To Harry's surprise, Martin admitted to having read _Pride and Prejudice_. Of course, after a moment, he admitted that he only read it because he saw her with it.

Harry listened to them argue about the characters. Martin defended Mr. Darcy tooth and nail. Emily rolled her eyes at him after he defended Darcy. He acknowledged that his verbiage hadn't been the best. But really, all he'd been doing was looking out for his best friend.

Emily scoffed at him. And went on a rant about how he was trying too hard to control everything around him. She went on about how Darcy's arrogance and conceit just made the entire story take longer than it needed to.

They joked about it for a while. But eventually, Martin pulled to the side of the road. Emily looked around and then back at him.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked.

"Because I'm tired," Martin yawned. "And we've made good time. A few hours of sleep won't kill us."

"I'm still awake. I can drive for a bit," Emily said.

"Again, not about to let that happen," Martin said. "And anyway, we've been going for four hours. We have to be pretty close as is. I think another hour, hour and a half max, and we'll be there."

"Okay," Emily frowned. It was obvious to Harry that she wasn't particularly happy with that decision. But she wasn't going to argue it any further than that. Martin opened the door to the car and stepped out of it.

"And I think there's a shed over there we should be able to crash in. Provided we're quiet and out of here in a hurry the owner may not even notice," Martin said.

"I'm not sure I'd call that a shed," Emily said, looking over at the hovel that Martin had parked the car next to.

"It's got four wall and enough of a roof," Martin said. "Close enough for me." He reached for his sidearm and looked over at her.

"Is that necessary?" Emily asked.

"Well there might be some type of animal in there. Better to be safe than sorry. Do you have your knife?" Martin asked. Emily nodded and reached into a pocket of her jacket and held it up.

"Great. Can you grab my bag?" he asked. He took his cane out of the back of the of the jeep, sliding the back over toward her She picked it up and slung it over her shoulder, a little surprised by the weight of it. She slung it over her shoulder and followed him toward the shack.

"Should we really be walking into that armed?" she asked.

"I'm more concerned about an animal than a human," Martin said. He limped to the door.

"Should I maybe go first?" she asked. He looked at her like that thought was crazy and stepped in. A moment later she followed after him. There wasn't anything inside. Martin took the bag from her and pulled out two rolled up blankets.

She took them and made a small space in the corner. She then stepped back out to the car and grabbed her violin.

"Going to play for me?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Not if you're tired. I just didn't want to leave it in the car."

"Probably smart," he said. She nodded and placed it in the corner. She sat down on the blankets and peered over at him. He paced for a moment before sitting next to her. He took another blanket out of the bag and leaned against the wall.

They talked, quietly for a moment, before Martin fell asleep, his head resting on her shoulder. Emily sat stiffly and looked around the room. She took the knife out of her pocket and traced it over her thumb. After a moment she paused to pick at her nails with it. But after just a few minutes of that she folded it closed and put it back in her pocket before giving up and closing her eyes.

The memory flashed to the morning. Harry wasn't exactly sure when, but the sun was up. Martin was already up and moving around. Emily yawned and looked blearily up at him.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Eight," he said. He took out what appeared to be a ration and offered it to her. She shook her head.

"No thank you," she said. He ate the rest of it.

"Well, I'll be in the car when you're ready to go," he said. He left to give her space. She nodded. As soon as he left she took out her wand and cleaned herself with magic. She paused and counted off a few minutes until she grabbed her violin and stepped back out to the car.

They didn't speak the rest of the way. Eventually Harry watched the buildings of London rise over the skyline. It was much different than Harry remembered as the drove into the city. There was debris everywhere and way more soldiers than Harry had ever imagined.

He got lost in staring at the buildings as they drove. He recognized the train station when they pulled into it. Emily stared at the building, looking rather relieved as they stepped from the car.

Martin walked next to her as they moved slowly into the station. Harry wondered just how she was going to getting rid of him to get onto the platform. She seemed to be thinking the same thing as she moved next to him.

"Thanks for getting me here," Emily said.

"No problem," Martin responded. "Which platform are you going to?"

"Ten," she responded instantly.

"Well let's go," he said.

"You don't have to see me off," she responded quietly.

"Yes I do," he commented. "If I can't tell the Bennett's you're safely on the train they will murder me."

"You make them out to be such violent people," Emily said. "I'm starting to think I missed something while I was there."

"You must have," Martin nodded. Emily walked with him through the station, weaving through people and luggage. Harry thought the station seemed less crowded than one would expect. Martin nodded to a few soldiers who stopped to salute him. Emily shifted away from them as they did. Harry could tell she was looking for a way to slip away as they approached platform ten.

As they neared it though, Harry saw a substantial shift in attire. It was, perhaps, even more obvious if one was looking for it than when his friends and family went to the station. The robes stuck out amongst the uniforms, although the soldiers seemed to not be overly interested.

Moments later Harry heard something that he could have sworn was the shrill cry of a wild animal trying to pronounce an English word. Martin and Emily both shifted toward the sound and two girls ran up to Emily.

"Hello Sarah. Hello Helen," Emily said. Both girls were wearing pleated grey skirts, white blouses and a white sweater over the blouses. They each had Slytherin badges on.

"You haven't changed yet?" One of the girls asked.

"I'll change on the train," Emily said.

"Who's your friend?" the other girl asked.

"This is Lieutenant Price," Emily said.

"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant," the first girl giggled.

"Sarah," Emily rolled her eyes.

"We'll take her from here," the other girl, Helen, said. Martin looked hesitant as the girls grabbed her and pulled her off.

"A violin?" Helen asked.

"I play," Emily said.

"A muggle man? Just what were you up to this summer?" Sarah giggled. Harry watched them walk off. He watched Martin walk behind them, eyeing the empty train platform. But a moment later another soldier called his name. He looked to see who it was, and that was the only moment the witches needed. When he looked back, they were gone.

Harry found himself pulled forward, onto the Hogwarts Express once more. Emily sat in a compartment with Sarah and Helen and another girl. Sarah robes up against the compartment window as Emily changed into her school uniform, capping it with her prefect's badge.

After they talked. Emily did not really join in the conversation. The mundane details of summer filled the compartment. The scenery moved faster and faster past and Harry understood that it was fast forwarding.

It continued at a sped up pace until she stepped into Hogwarts. After that, the memory changed completely. It was nothing like the scenes in Great Hangleton. Everything seemed to be happening around him at once. It was nauseating.

Every time he managed to focus on one thing, it seemed like ten others would pop up. He saw her at meals, he saw her in the familiar Slytherin common room. He saw her around the grounds, he watched her watch quidditch.

He noticed that she was both never and always alone. She was always with other girls. Helen and Sarah most commonly, but others he didn't recognize. But despite being around them, she never really seemed to be part of whatever they were on about. Yet they always asked her opinion or for her to settle any argument. And they hung on her every word when she did speak.

Harry saw her classes too. Her schedule wasn't like his, though. She had classes with people in her year, yes. She didn't take creatures or history but filled that gap with Arithmancy and Divination. He sat through the lessons in what felt like instants. She even took other classes with students clearly younger than her, sitting in on lectures in Runes and Creatures and even Muggle Studies once or twice. The classes flashed back to him over and over. Days, weeks, months, all melded into flashes of memory before him.

He watched her do her homework. He watched her agonize over essays and tests. He watched her read books. He watched as she studied for every little thing. He could see the pages in the texts, the pages of her meticulous notes, and the grades that came back. She seemed to struggle the most with charms. And she spent the most time working on it.

He watched her write letters. One two the Bennett's, he could see the text on the page over her shoulder as she wrote, thanking them for everything and apologizing for running off. She promised them she'd be okay and hoped that they and their daughter would be reunited soon and could enjoy their lives.

But she also wrote to Lieutenant Price. First simply thanking him for taking her to London and apologizing for disappearing. Then again, what must have been months later, inquiring if he was doing alright and talking in the vaguest of terms about how her year was going. Each time she included a return address that Harry realized must have been how Muggle parents got items to students when owls weren't readily available to them.

Harry watched her duel, too. The old dueling club, he figured out. She was brutal, but never seemed to intentionally hurt anyone. But she beat them thoroughly. Once or twice she'd lose. But the rematches seldom went in her opponents favor. He saw images of duels that were clearly not from Hogwarts. He could see snow around the platform set up. And he saw her holding a trophy at the end of it, smiling brightly.

He saw her play the violin. She improved steadily at that. Often he could see musical notes floating around her, charmed sheet music that scrolled past, floating in the air as she played. At first she'd only play in empty class rooms. But eventually an audience emerged. She'd tried to never go back to the same room. But they'd always find her. And she eventually gave up.

He saw her birthday during the winter holiday. Six students hadn't gone home for Christmas and they and an older man that Harry could only assume was the head of Slytherin at the time had a party in the common room. They split a cake with seventeen candles on it, while Emily was forced to wear a green cone-shaped hat.

He saw her tutor younger students. He saw her patrol the hallways with a Slytherin boy who also wore a prefect's badge. He saw Ravenclaw win the quidditch cup through her eyes. He saw her year-end exams.

He saw her finally get a letter back at the end of the year. He watched her read it, it's contents just really a list of things he'd done and how Great Hangleton was.

And then, as quickly as it started he saw it end. She was back on the train, and then she was back in London. And then back in the country.

Her next summer was uneventful. The most entertaining thing was the overheard news of the war. She listened intently to broadcasts talking of the Allies establishing themselves in Europe. And she listened to the chatter from the Muggles that the war would surely be over by Christmas.

She spent most of that summer indoors in the countryside. This time she was the ward of a solitary old woman who left her to her own devices. Indeed, Harry wasn't even sure that after the first week the woman even realized Emily as there. He saw her write letters and fail to send them because she couldn't find an owl or a post master.

But now she was seventeen. She spent the summer freely practicing spells and reading magic books. She worked at it constantly, only pausing to play the violin for a few hours a day.

This time, when the summer drew to a close, she just apparated back to London. And her seventh year followed much like her sixth.

Toward the middle of it though, Harry grew queasy. There was just too much flashing buy. It was too hard to follow, too hard to understand. He wasn't sure he was even supposed to. Eventually, though, it slowed.

He rejoined the scene in the spring of nineteen forty-five. Emily was walking toward a younger Albus Dumbledore in a courtyard. Fifteen men stood around him, dressed in dark leathers.

Harry watched as she walked right up to them. But as he did he realized how nauseous the previous scenes had made him. He paused, knowing it would have to wait. He closed his eyes and force himself from the journal.

He sat on his bed, staring around, wondering just how much time had passed since he had last gone in. The sun was still up so he hoped it was at least the same day. But given that Ron hadn't come and bothered him he assumed it had to be.

He took a moment to center himself. His head was throbbing a bit and he frowned, wondering if he had any headache tonic left in his trunk. He slipped over to it and dug through it but didn't find any. He sighed and grabbed his homework before stepping back down into the common room.

He slunk to a chair in the corner and spread his books out on the end table. He started working on his potions essay, not particularly paying attention to what he was putting onto the paper. Snape hadn't vanished or destroyed any of his work for the last couple of weeks, so he figured he was due.

Still, it didn't take him very long to write the essay. Much less time than he thought it would, which was good given that he'd wasted most of the day in the nineteen forties. Sadly, all he could really think of while he was writing potions drivel down on the parchment was heading back to the nineteen forties.

The people Emily had been approaching reminded him strangely of the photo that Hermione had just shown him. He paused the essay for a moment to stare longingly into the direction of his dormitory.

But he turned his attention back to the essay after a mere moment and continued on it. Hermione came back when he was about halfway done and started to work on her Runes homework next to him.

She was already stressing about their midterm exams. Harry did his best to ignore her. She didn't even offer to read his Potions essay when he was finished because she was so engrossed into her notes. He tucked his essay back into his bag and took out the Transfiguration homework.

He was only paying slightly more attention to that than he had his potions homework. It wasn't until he was halfway done with the worksheet they'd been assigned that he noticed Hermione tutting under her breath repeatedly.

At first he ignored her. But then she just kept making more exasperated noises and it started to annoy him. He looked up at her, hoping that she wasn't about to comment on his homework.

She wasn't looking at him. Instead she was glaring at Dennis Creevey and two third year girls who were arguing over their defense homework. She was chewing on her bottom lip and Harry could tell she was fighting the urges to both yell at them for talking while she was studying, and correcting them.

Harry smirked to himself and decided that he would irritate her. Even if he knew it wasn't the best course of action. Prefect Hermione had been irritating him lately anyway. She'd been a little too hyper focused on her school work this year.

"What's the debate?" he asked the younger girls as he walked over. They both paused and stared up at him with wide eyes.

"We were arguing about counter-jinxes," Dennis said.

"And how jinxes are evil," One of the girls, a young brunette said.

"But they're not, Nora," Dennis said. "I overheard Hermione Granger saying they aren't. And she's never wrong."

"Well I wouldn't say 'never'," Harry smirked. He gazed toward Hermione. He saw her eyes flash in his direction but she buried herself back in her runes homework.

"What do you mean?" Nora asked.

"She's not infallible, despite the constant studying," Harry said.

"No," Nora glared at him. "About the Jinxes. Professor Umbridge and the textbook say that jinxes are dark magic."

"How does that make sense?" Harry asked.

"Well it's is in the textbook," Dennis said, jumping immediately to Nora's defense even though he'd just been arguing the opposite point.

"It is," Harry said. "But since when does what we call something determine the morality behind it?"

"What?" Nora asked.

"What's the difference between a charm or a hex? A curse or a jinx?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Nora said.

"The only substantial difference, really, is how we label it. A counter-jinx may still be a jinx. But that doesn't mean it's evil," Harry said.

"Professor Umbridge disagrees with that," Dennis said.

"Professor Umbridge is an idiot," Harry responded.

"I don't think we can write that on our homework," Nora said snottily. Harry smiled at her. To his surprise, she blushed and looked away.

"Probably not," Harry said. "Really, for her homework, all you have to do is copy the text pretty much verbatim and she gives an Outstanding."

"So how can it be wrong?" Dennis asked. "I mean I feel like it isn't the best book but they wouldn't have us study it if it was horrible."

"Well the professors aren't gospel," Harry said. "I mean ask your brother about Lockhart. Umbridge has an agenda she wants to put forward. And it's important to understand that and work around it."

"What does she want?" Dennis asked.

"She doesn't want anyone who might think Professor Dumbledore is correct to learn how to preform anything that could defensive or offensive magic," Harry said. "Fudge fears that Dumbledore is trying to overthrow him."

"Why?" Nora asked.

"I don't know. I guess Fudge thinks his position is in jeopardy if Voldemort is back," Harry said. Both of the younger students flinched away from the name.

"I don't want you-know-who to be back," Nora said quietly.

"Me either," Harry said, frowning against the words. In his mind, when he pictured Lord Voldemort, he did not picture Emily Riddle. Instead he actually saw her standing against a dark robed figure. He blinked away from that.

"I feel like I don't know any defensive magic," Nora said. She looked rather concerned. Harry pulled himself out of those thoughts and he looked back at the girl.

"Well, take out your wand and I'll show you how to cast a basic shield," Harry said. "And we can go on from there."

"Can you show me too?" Dennis said.

"Sure," Harry said. He took out his own wand and started demonstrating the wand movements. He even let Dennis and Nora cast spells at him that he deflected with the same shield. After a few moments, and once they'd managed to cast shields that blocked spells from him.

A few other younger students joined them and Harry showed them the spells as well. Before long ten younger students were all trying to curse him at the same time. He lasted a good twenty minutes, mostly without fighting back, until they finally managed to stun him.

Hermione revived him and he sat groggily next to her, recovering from the exertion and the grogginess of being stunned. It took him a couple of minutes to feel totally coherent. He smiled at Hermione.

"I'm a bit surprised you allowed that," he laughed.

"Well I only nearly got cursed twice," Hermione said dryly. "A third time and I may have had to." But she couldn't suppress the smile when she finished speaking.

"So I next time we need to work on their aim. Alright I'll have to think of some drills," Harry laughed.

"So you had fun?" Hermione asked, gazing at him knowingly.

"Yes," Harry laughed. "Something about it felt oddly familiar." He paused as he said that aloud. Something about it had felt familiar. But he didn't know exactly what it was. Something about showing the wand movements to the fellow students reminded him of something he thought he saw. But he didn't bother lingering on it, because Hermione kept talking.

"See we really need to get the Defense group going," Hermione said. "We have to find a place to practice."

"I know a place," Harry admitted quietly.

"Where?" she asked. "I think the Shrieking Shack is so far our best bet, even though it is kind of small."

"We'd never be able to sneak that many students under the willow," Harry said.

"You're probably right. Where did you find?" she asked.

"It's on the seventh floor. Just have everyone meet me up there and I'll show you. By the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy," Harry said.

"I don't recall there being a room up there," Hermione said.

"I found a hidden one," Harry said. "That seems to alter itself to suit needs. It should be perfect."

"I hope so," Hermione said.

"It will work out. You can get everyone to be there tomorrow night?" Harry asked.

"I'll try," she said.

"Great," Harry said. Moments later, though, Ron returned from quidditch practice looking exhausted. Harry left Hermione to converse with his friend about the remainder of the quidditch season. It wasn't a very optimistic conversation, but it was still rather more fun to talk of than school work.

He did not venture back into the diary that evening. He was tempted to. But after how nauseous it made him feel the last time, he decided to just get some sleep for a change.

He slept the night through for what seemed like the first time in a long while. And when he dreamed, he dreamed of an unfamiliar hallway with an equally unfamiliar doorway at the end of it. He wanted to get through that door, but it wouldn't open for him. No matter what he tried.

Harry woke feeling rather more rested than he would have thought possible. He went down to breakfast and chatted amiably with Hermione and Ron. Ron questioned him repeatedly about the room he'd found on the seventh floor and he agreed to show him later, before he'd start teaching defense.

He spent the rest of his day finishing his homework. It didn't take him nearly as long as he expected it would. He wandered up to get Emily's diary from upstairs, bringing it down this his bag and sitting in the common room with Ron and Hermione. He'd intended to see just what happened to her as she left Hogwarts, but Ron kept talking to him and he figured it was best to not totally zone out and have them question the book.

So instead he let Ron copy his potion's essay. He dug it out of the bag, pulling out the pocket knife Emily had gifted him at the same time. He handed the essay to Ron and then looked down at the blade.

He'd never really examined it fully before. So he pulled it open and traced his hand over the steel. It was cold and heavy in his hand. He turned it around and traced the blade over his thumb slowly.

"Where did you even get that?" Hermione snapped. Harry thought the question seemed oddly familiar, but he ignored that.

"It was a gift," he said. "They're amazingly useful."

"What could they possibly be useful for?" Hermione laughed. "When you have a wand?"

"You never know," Harry said. He ran the blade against his fingernails, filing them against the sharpness of it. He marveled at how easily the steel cut through the cuticle. Something felt oddly familiar about it. He ignored Hermione's glare and filed down each of his nails.

When he was satisfied he'd annoyed Hermione enough he folded the blade closed and tucked it into his pocket, rather than putting it back into his bag.

Eventually, enough of the evening had passed that he figured he could get to the seventh floor without being absurdly early. Ron went with him and Harry showed him how to enter the room.

He had it set up as a large open area. There were some Defense texts on a bookshelf, he examined them, decided he wanted to read two of them, and wondered what would happen to things that left the room. He and Ron spent a few minutes tweaking the room until he thought it would service.

Hermione joined them a few minutes later, claiming that she'd informed everyone and that they were all expected to make it. Soon after all of the other students started to trickle in. Harry thought he'd be nervous, but really, he wasn't.

They all looked to him and he just started talking. He talked about fighting Dementors in his third year. He talked about facing the unknown in his forth. He talked about facing Lord Voldemort at the end of the tournament. And then he talked about being ambushed at his home.

When asked about his patronus he simply went ahead and demonstrated it. The silver stag galloped around the room for a few moments, drawing a considerable amount of praise from those in attendance.

After everyone was suitably impressed he started them on shielding charms and disarming spells. By the end of the night everyone there could properly shield and disarm each other. Harry observed and helped out when necessary.

By the end of the night everyone that had attended was in good spirits. They talked of naming the group and it didn't take them long to settle on Dumbledore's Army. They joked that it was the thing Umbridge feared the most.

But as soon as Harry heard it said aloud, it felt wrong. His mind flashed to a photograph of people standing around Dumbledore. Dumbledore's army, he thought, may not have been as unique as the students in the Room of Requirement thought.

He knew he wouldn't sleep that night. He knew he'd instead venture back into the diary. To see just what Emily had been walking to. To see just what she'd been heading for. Somehow, he didn't think he'd like what he saw. But he was still curious.

Hermione had already spoiled that she'd gone to fight against Grindelwald. And Harry knew that, next to her Gellert Grindelwald was considered the second greatest Dark Wizard of the twentieth century.

He stayed in the room after everyone else left and looked through the history books that the room had created. He was woefully ignorant on the magical history of modern Europe. He saw, in that book, for the first time, a handsome blonde man with bright blue eyes. The same man who had caused so much strife in Europe.

There was very little said about the ending of the war. The circumstances seemed ignored in the publication, and instead just summarized as a long duel between Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald that ended the war.

The book had the same photo Hermione had shown him. It was a photo of Dumbledore, standing in the middle of a bunch of other wizards, with one witch off to the side looking dour. Dumbledore's army, Harry thought as he stared at it.

At least, he thought idly, he could pass off his next trip into the diary as looking at the history of the organization he was now a part of.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Chapter 12

"What are you doing here, Miss Riddle?" Albus Dumbledore said as he turned to see Emily approach. Her hair was done in a loose bob and she had a canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

"I'm coming with you," she said defiantly.

"No, you are not," Dumbledore said.

"Yes I am," Emily smiled at him, her eyes flashing confidently, her one dimple showing. Harry saw she was wearing all black dragonhide dueling armor. It fit her form perfectly, accentuating it as she moved. All of the men, and Harry noticed there were only men with Dumbledore, stared at her. Some of them weren't much older than her.

"That is unacceptable," Dumbledore said harshly. "While you are still a student at this institution you will not be joining us."

"Then I quit," Emily smiled.

"No," Dumbledore said. "Maybe after your exams."

"I can take my exams whenever. I am coming with you or I am following after you," Emily said.

"I cannot allow that Miss Riddle," Dumbledore said. "And neither would Professor Dippet."

"You and Professor Dippet caused this," Emily said. "And you are not going to stop me."

"How did we cause this?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her.

"You sent me back to London in 1940, in 1941, in 1942, in 1943 and in 1944. You sent me back to a warzone. Most of you don't even know what a Messerschmitt is. Or what a V-2 is. Most of you didn't have any idea just what this war is doing to the Muggles. And you made me live through it," Emily said.

"I assure you Miss Riddle I understand what the German military is capable of," Dumbledore responded.

"They've killed my friends. They've attacked me, Professor. And you forced me to live through it. And I'm the best you've got," Emily argued. A few of them men behind Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably.

"You are far too young, Emily," Dumbledore said. "And your skill has only seen the dueling pitch."

"I'm eighteen. I'm old enough to be conscripted. And so has theirs. In fact, I've beaten at least two thirds of them on that dueling pitch," Emily argued.

"Let her come," a young man said. "I watched her duel my brother last winter. She's better than me, at least."

"And me," another said. A murmur of consent followed after. Dumbledore looked defeated for a moment. He turned his gaze back to her.

"Are you sure about this, Miss Riddle?" he asked.

"I'm not afraid of Gellert Grindelwald," Emily snapped. Dumbledore looked almost sad as he stared back at her. But he nodded and gestured for her to follow. She joined the troops in walking from the Hogwarts grounds.

They traveled by multiple portkeys until they met up with a company of Muggle soldiers outside of Nurmengard. Muggle troops had tried to take the town and Grindelwald's fortress without realizing what they were getting into. Thousands had died in mere hours.

Harry listened as Dumbledore explained to them that they were given an attaché of Muggle soldiers who would be memory wiped after the battle. But that was all the support they would get. And that as long as Grindelwald was alive and safe in his fortress, then Hitler and Germany would never surrender.

The area around the town was nothing but smashed earth and rubble, the ground seeming to be nothing but caked mud and blood. There were still corpses here or there. Emily gazed down at them as they passed, each wearing various uniforms.

They moved through the blockades of muggle soldiers who had encircled the fortress. Dumbledore spoke with an officer near the end of it. Moments later he reported back to his troops.

The city was taken. But the troops could not breach the fortress. Blasting curses rained down on tanks and troops that approached. Magic constantly barraged the forces there. And if they moved too close other strange things happened. Most potently, anyone without magical blood melted after crossing a certain point. They'd figured out just how far it could reach and encircled it.

Dumbledore's Army, as Harry started thinking of them in the memory although they were given no such actual distinction, would have to breach that area. They'd have to deal with the barrage from wizards and surround the fortress itself. They would then have to work on dispelling the enchantments on the town and the fortress so that they could press on and capture Grindelwald.

They had thirty five wizards, one witch, and Albus Dumbledore. And only one of them didn't look frightened by the thought. They huddled around a couple of fires that night, well behind the lines, knowing that the next day would change them forever.

Emily was awake and dressed well before dawn. She paced around nervously in her dragon hide armor. Eventually she sat and watched the sunrise with a smile, enjoying the warmth as it hit her face. After the sun came up she flirted with a young muggle soldier for a moment, to con him out of half of a chocolate bar that she ate for breakfast.

At eight, she joined Dumbledore and the other wizards, their numbers had easily doubled since the night before as they walked toward the front line. Emily wondered where everyone had come from. Most were young. But there were a few grey, hardened wizards in their company. Emily noted there were only five witches.

Dumbledore was lecturing them as they moved to the front line surrounding the citadel. He was reminding them that battle wasn't like a duel. He reminded them that attacks came from all sides, and that they should constantly be aware of their environment.

They split into seven smaller groups, each with a specific objective and an attachment of Muggle soldiers that were ordered to stay behind the ward lines. Harry noticed that Emily was put with Dumbledore's group. He saw Albus Dumbledore stare at her for a moment or two before they moved out, as if he didn't trust her presence there.

She never once hesitated as they moved toward the front. Harry couldn't quite tell from the memory just what they faced. But everyone in the group shivered after a moment. Two in specific looked like they wanted to flee. But they kept pressing on.

Harry saw deformed charred chunks of metal. He wasn't quite sure exactly what they could be until he saw a large cannon sticking out of one. Harry couldn't help but wonder just how much magic it would take to crush a tank like that. Or how much magic it would take to stop a tank shell.

The group's progress was slow. The closer they got to the fortress, the slower they seemed to move. Harry suspected that the defenses had something to do with it. Although nothing in particular was being sent directly their way.

At least until the Panzer's appeared. There must have been some type of concealment charm on them that passed once they reached a certain point. The tanks started firing on them almost immediately.

Harry saw the shells explode in two of the other groups. Harry saw body parts fly out of the explosions. He heard the crack of machine gun fire from the tanks. He saw Emily raise her wand and throw a shield in front of her. He saw her flinch back against the projectiles hitting it repeatedly.

Harry watched as one of the men attempted to apprate away. Almost as soon as he heard the crack of apparation, he heard a shriek. A bloody mass of meat impacted the ground a few feet away from where the man had been standing. The protections on the area, Harry figured, must have inverted him when he tried to apparate. The image made him want to vomit.

Their advance was stalled by the armament. Even Albus Dumbledore strained against the barrage. Harry heard noises hallow noises long off in the distance. He heard someone shout. And then the ground around them started to explode as well.

All Harry could see in the memory was explosions and bullets. It took him a moment to realize that some of them were shooting through him as well. But they passed through his form to no harm. A mortar exploded exactly where he'd been standing. It shocked him. He dove, before he could even really realize that nothing could harm him, behind Emily's shield.

He noticed immediately that he wasn't the only one who'd had that idea. Another man stood behind her shield. His hand rested on her back. His eyes were fixed on the tank line.

Harry looked around to see almost everyone had paired up. Dumbledore fought alone at the front of the group, shielding incoming projectiles and shooting spells off toward the German lines with flashes of moment that Harry almost couldn't track wish his eyes.

But the others were not having as much success as Dumbledore. Most were hiding behind shields. But others were firing spells off toward the tanks. Most of the magic simply deflected off the steel, or impacted against it with little damage. One or two of the tanks were disabled, but the others kept up the barrage.

Harry wondered just what Wizards could do against a group of tanks that they struggled to approach. They weren't close enough to effectively transfigure it. One of the wizards managed to hit a shell as soon as the tank fired it. It exploded spectacularly, destroying the vehicle in the process.

"Hurry up," Emily snapped at him. "It's going to break soon." Harry saw that her teeth were gritted with exertion as she held her wand up. The silvery magic of the shield charm flashed repeatedly against her. Harry could see every single bullet that hit it, every shell, every explosion. He watched as Emily tensed against it. He could see her arms and legs shaking as she struggled to hold up the spell.

"Just a bit more," the man said, he was holding his wand up and seemed to be concentrating hard on something.

"Hurry!" She snapped again.

"Got one!" He yelled. Harry saw a tank shell stop inches before Emily's shield. The man was pointing his wand directly at it. He pulled his wand around and the shell followed his movements. The man threw the shell back at the tank. It impacted on the side and exploded, detonating the vehicle as a whole.

"Well done!" Emily said, staggering back against the barrage hitting her shield. The man with her seemed to notice the effort it was taking to maintain the shield. He stepped forward and put up his own.

"Switch!" he yelled. She nodded and dropped her shield, staying close behind his. She mimicked him then, and grabbed another shell. She sent hers into another tank as they moved forward.

"Switch!" she yelled back as the man staggered. She put her own shield up again and the process repeated as they moved closer and closer.

Harry noticed that not everyone had their luck. He watched as a tank shell exploded through a shield a few feet away from them, the shrapnel ripping through two wizards to their side. Harry saw their blood fly through the air, and heard their screams of pain.

When they got closer to the line of tanks the strategy changed. They stopped trying to intercept shells and focused on more accurate spell work. Emily transfigured a cannon as it fired, causing the whole vehicle to explode outwards.

He saw Dumbleldore pick up an entire tank, and with one single flick of his wand, bowl it into three others before snapping around and shielding other soldiers from a barrage of shells. Harry watched as Emily blasted a whole in another tank. She ripped a loose bit of metal paneling off with another spell and made quick, bloody work of the living soldiers inside.

He saw another wizard conjure magical flames around one of the tanks, boiling those inside. They scrambled out of the hatch into the fire and were shot down almost immediately by jets of light.

But it wasn't just wholesale slaughter of the muggles. As the wizards grew closer they struggled more and more to accurately shield as the barrage came from all sides. Bullets and shells ripped through wizards from all sides. Bodies dropped into the mud without any sort of ceremony. Yells of agony filled the field.

Still they pressed onward. Harry surveyed the field around them. Charred wreckage littered the area, smoke rising from it. The battlefield was growing hazy with it. But Harry noticed they were almost through the line of German tanks. Still, as he looked around at the carnage, he noticed that at least of third of the wizards were dead or incapacitated.

But in moments they were through. Once clear of the tanks they were a clear shot to the citadel prison where Grindelwald was content to stage his last stand. There were sandbags set up in the mud, barricades that Harry expected would hide infantry.

The approaching wizards took no chance. The sandbags were obliterated well before they could have been an effective hiding spot. But it didn't matter. No one was behind them. There seemed to be nothing between them and the citadel.

But then the battle changed. The sky immediately darkened around the citadel. Harry watched as billows of black smoke shot from the tower. There had to be nearly a hundred of them shooting out. Moments later wizards were appearing all over the battlefield. They were able to apparate in without being dismembered by the defenses around the tower.

It was instantly chaos. Dumbledore's army struggled to even track them. In the first moments Harry thought he saw at least ten of them fall to close range green blasts. They panicked. Some tried to flee, but they were instantly struck down.

"With me!" Emily yelled to a wizard near her. The same one who she'd been swapping shields with moments earlier. He pressed up against her, back-to-back, and they started swivel around and combat the flashes of the other wizards around them.

"Your two!" The man yelled. Emily's eyes flashed to her right and she fired a blasting curse off to her two o'clock. One of Grindelwald's wizards flashed right into it. Harry watched the man's chest explode with the impact of the spell, innards and uniform scrap flying around.

"Your six!" she yelled back, her eyes flashing overhead as one swooped down and landed directly in front of her partner.

"Avada," The man started.

"Diffindo!" Emily's partner shouted. The cutting curse ripped through his neck, taking his head clean off, and he was unable to complete his killing curse. Harry blinked down in shock at the corpse. It worse a pristine black Germany military uniform, the dual lightning bolt insignia made him shiver. But he didn't examine it for long, his attention turning back to the battle around them.

Other groups were pairing up. The attackers seemed to realize that their best defense against Grindelwald's forces was to team up. They formed small groups and tried to survive the onslaughts. Many fell but it started to work.

Most of Grindelwald's forces concentrated on Dumbledore. Harry watched as his headmaster fight seven of them to a standstill. He was moving faster than Harry would have thought humanly possible. His wand flashing around, he didn't verbally say any of his spells. One by one, the wizards fighting him dropped. Dumbledore seemed to know that his spells would work before they did. He'd focus for a moment on one and he'd already be onto the next before that man fell.

Harry watched it in awe. It was inspiring. Dumbledore was glowing with a fiery power as he fought. White-red flames seemed to be at his command. He lit the ever darkening battlefield, drawing more and more attention to him.

Whether or not he intended for it to be such a distraction, Harry couldn't determine. But it certainly was. It pulled all of Grindelwald's wizards to him. But that gave some advantage to Dumbledore, as it allowed his remaining forces to try to pick them off as they tried to snipe Dumbledore.

For a moment, it looked like the tide of the battle was again shifting in Dumbledore's favor. At this rate, Grindelwald would run out of wizards well before Dumbledore. But then a crack of lighting flashed across the sky and everything seemed to slow.

Harry saw lightning strike one of the wizards and thought that was rather unlucky. The man died without a noise. But then another hit another wizard and Harry figured it had to be more than mere coincidence.

A third shot through the sky, Harry noticed it was coming directly down from the citadel. It flashed through the sky and moved directly down toward the battlefield. Harry could see a man on top of the citadel. He was waving his arms, directing the lightning down toward the battlefield.

Harry watched Dumbledore. He tried to fire spells up at the citadel while in the middle of his duel with so many of the others. They seemed to be focusing on him more than the others. As if there was nothing more important than keeping Dumbledore distracted while the man on the tower turned the weather against them.

Harry turned to see Emily and her partner dancing around three other wizards. They fought them to a standstill, but they were not able to overcome the constant barrage from the other three. He looked around the field to see more and more of the black uniformed wizards encircling smaller and smaller groups of Dumbledore's Army.

Dumbledore tried to push closer to more of his soldiers. He tried to press on through the spell barraging him. But every time he managed to strike down an opponent it seemed like two more shot across the battlefield to join in.

Dumbledore put more and more power into his spells. Any attack that was parried still effectively knocked the opposing wizard away. Even in the haze of memory, Harry could feel the aura coming off of Dumbledore. He looked like moving flames as he flashed around the field. But he could only do so much, and at every angle he was met with ten to fifteen others.

The lightning strikes were growing more and more frequent. Harry soon realized they weren't precisely aimed, just more thrown in the direction of friend and foe alike. Harry watched as one narrowly missed a member of Dumbledore's Army to instead knock out two of the Grindelwald's wizards.

But friendly fire did not distract them from their task at hand. Harry watched in awe as it appeared every dark robed wizard on the field was quite ready to die for the man in the high tower. Harry turned his gaze upward, marveling at what it must have taken for that man, Gellert Grindelwald, to inspire such devotion.

A moment later lightning streaked through him. Harry spun around to follow the blast. He watched it curve through light and dark robes alike until it hit inches from Emily. It didn't hit either Emily or her partner. But it hadn't needed to. Instead it kicked up enough earth to distract the man guarding Emily's back. And a moment after the dust had cleared, a jet of green light clipped his shoulder and he fell to the ground in a heap.

Emily watched his body fall past her. She spun around after he fell, her wand locking on the man who'd fired the killing curse. She blasted off a spell that hit the man before he'd even lowered his wand.

The magic ripped clean through him leaving a hole the size of a cannon ball in his chest. Muscle and blood dripped down as the man fell to his kneed and then face first into the blood-stained mud.

A wizard next to him sent a cutting hex toward Emily. She parried it away with her wand, firing her own cutting hex off toward another wizard to her left as she did. It sailed well high but before that wizard could counter attack two of Dumbledore's surrounded him.

Emily parried another spell and set upon the caster. They dueled in the middle of the field for what couldn't have been more than fifteen seconds. Harry marveled at the amount of spells cast, deflected, blocked and dodged as Emily closed the distance to her assailant.

She stepped around him a moment later. Harry thought for sure the man would turn and curse her, but as she moved he watched the body split and fell. She'd somehow, through the parrying, cleaved him open from hip to neck with a cutting curse. His blood stained her armor as she looked for another opponent.

It didn't take her long to find one. She moved quickly toward a group of three of Dumbledore's army pinned down by three black uniformed wizards. She surprised the first one with some type of spell that Harry didn't recognize. It was a quick series of cutting curses right near the heart.

As the other two turned toward her she summoned the burnt wreckage of one of the tanks toward her. She threw it at the other two wizards. They both shot blasting curses at it before dodging around the charred hunk of metal.

She shielded their return volley of spells and was in the process of parrying another when the three members of Dumbledore's army she'd rushed to join flashed around behind Grindelwald's wizards. There wasn't anything they could do once surrounded. One apparated away, the other was hit by three different spells in almost the same instance leaving nothing but a disfigured leg behind.

"We need to get to Dumbledore!" Emily shouted as more lightning flashed down around them. One bolt hit one of the wizards square on and Harry watched as he seemed to melt away. Emily reached out as if to help but moments later they were again fighting against Grindelwald's wizards.

"Push toward him!" one of the wizards near Emily yelled. She nodded and started moving with him toward Dumbledore. They were only a couple hundred feet away, yet it seemed like an insurmountable distance.

Grindelwald's supporters seemed to understand their plan, as soon as they started moving, some of the wizards shifted away from Dumbledore and attempted to slow their advance. Dumbledore forced a ball of what appeared to be pure fire through one of them. Harry noticed he was glowing more and more, a fiery beacon in the center of the battlefield.

Emily pushed her way toward it. She looked entirely determined to get there, even if she didn't look entirely sure how she could possibly help. Still she pressed through the throng of soldiers.

Harry watched as she cut them down. He couldn't identify the spells she used. Flashes of color sprung from her wand and Grindelwald's soldiers fell. He noticed greens, reds, and purples mostly. He saw boils erupt on wizards, he saw skin melt, he saw bone snap through flesh.

He watched as she started to glow as well. But while Dumbledore glowed like a bastion of light, hers was different. It was smokier, seeming to radiate from her slowly, like a lingering shadow. It was all purples and greens around her, almost like leftover magic from the spells she was using simply radiated around her. Her hair had come loose during the fray and whipped around her with each movement she made, her eyes were wide and wild as they darted across the field, looking for anyone to strike down.

Eventually they made it to Dumbledore. They fought off the wizards around him. There were maybe fifteen of Dumbledore's wizards left at that point. Emily led them to form a circle around Dumbledore as lightning still rained down around them. The lightning seemed to be trying to focus on her and Harry watched as she managed to deflect a bolt away, looking shocked that it worked, and throwing it into two of Grindelwald's men.

They circled Dumbledore and fought off every attack that they were faced with while Dumbledore prepared a spell. Emily herself cut down five more wizards, still glowing as she fought on. A few more wizards simply seemed exhausted and collapsed to the ground.

And then Dumbledore cast the spell he'd been prepping. He threw a gigantic shield around the top of the tower, where Grindelwald bombarded them. Grindelwald threw lightning against it but it reflected around back at him.

The Dark Lord tried a few other spells against the shield, but Dumbledore held it in place, trapping him, as his followers died on the field below. Some type of communication must have gone out to all of them as moments later the black robed soldiers all started to disappear away from the battlefield, retreating to the tower.

A cheer came up from Dumbledore's remaining wizards. They circled around Dumbledore, smiling brightly and cheering despite the carnage around them. Dumbledore himself walked up behind Emily. She was still glowing as the battle ended, still standing tensely and gazing around the field. He put a hand on her shoulder and whispered.

"It's over," he said softly. She took a deep breath and seemed to center herself. The glow slowly vanished and she sank down toward her dirt and grime. Her eyes were wide and wild but she looked exhausted.

Harry watched as they gathered around. He thought they'd rest, but they didn't. Not for more than a couple of minutes. Instead Dumbledore assigned the survivors tasks. Some cleaned up the battlefield, identifying the dead, counting the remaining numbers, others focused on removing the enchantments.

Emily helped Dumbledore with a few of the enchantments. Working closely with him, doing as instructed. It took the rest of the day but they were able to make it so the Muggles could encircle the town as well.

Hours later the survivors sat around a fire, quietly. There seemed to be little need for talking. There was some reminiscing about those who had died, but mostly it looked like the entire group was merely trying to push the thoughts of the battle out of their heads. They'd made some food but no one really did more than pick at it.

Dumbledore surveyed the situation, looking pallid and lost. His blue eyes were not sparkling, instead they looked rather dead. He gazed from each of his wizards, resting his eyes on the survivors in their turn.

He stared at Emily last. She sat alone, off to the side of the fire, her dinner untouched. He watched her carefully, concern on his face. Emily was looking toward the tower, she did not seem to be paying any attention to the world around her.

Dumbledore watched her for a couple of minutes. He focused on her and her alone. Harry wondered just what he could have been thinking about as he looked at his young pupil. Eventually he stood. Most of the men sitting around the fire looked up at him. But he ignored them. He moved over toward Emily and sat next to her, on the same log she was using. She didn't acknowledge him until he spoke.

"How are you?" he asked softly, his voice taking on the almost grand-fatherly tone Harry recognized readily enough.

"Fine," she said, almost too quickly. Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Harry could see him debating what to say.

"You fought well," he said, clearly deciding a compliment was the best way to go.

"Thank you," she responded softly. She turned to stare at the fire.

"Not what you imagined?" Dumbledore's voice was barely above a whisper.

"I didn't really imagine anything," Emily admitted. "But I didn't think it would be so…I don't even know."

"I understand," Dumbledore said.

"I didn't even really think about it while it was going on. It's now that I'm replaying it all and seeing it all and wondering if I was right to come. Wondering if I was right to act or not. Wondering if I should have done more," she sighed and shook her head. Dumbledore nodded.

"That is the nature of it. You did well. You did more than could possibly be expected of anyone. I am grateful that you forced your way into our party," Dumbledore said. Emily just nodded. Harry could see she was still just staring at the fire. He wondered exactly what she was thinking about. Was it the men who died next to her? Or perhaps the men she'd killed? Or perhaps something else entirely?

"Me too," Emily nodded. Harry didn't think that response was exactly what it should have been. But she looked mostly like she wasn't really paying attention to Dumbledore. Harry stared at her. She looked dirty and sad and so very tired as she stared into the flickering flames before her. Dumbledore frowned down at the fire as well.

"Will you do something for me, Miss Riddle?" he asked after another silent moment.

"Hmm?" she responded, her eyes closing for a moment.

"I feel like some music would help," he waved his wand at another log and Harry watched it transform slowly into a violin and bow. He offered both to her. She stared at him for a moment but then nodded and took it from him. She spent a few minutes tuning it, drawing some gazes from the other wizards, before she started to play, the sad notes rising into the darkness.

Harry watched her play. The tune started dour but gradually grew to happiness. He lost himself in the music, as did the other wizards sitting around the fire, all knowing that they, at least, would live for another day.

Lord Voldemort paced around the apartment. The door to her balcony was open and she was waiting for Nagini to check in. The snake was late. And that was starting to concern her. Still, she figured she'd know if something happened to it. Still, if it took much longer she'd have to check in on it.

She killed the time by staring down at the last letter she'd received, reading it again and again, more times than she could count, and wondering just how much she'd miscalculated that. But still, it didn't do her any good to dwell on it. She could try fixing that later.

She got sick of pacing and sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. She stared for a moment at the empty stool next to her, feeling oddly lonely. A feeling that she was remembering more and more as the days passed.

She shook the thought from her head and instead stared at the crystal ball sitting before her on the breakfast bar. She almost couldn't believe she was doing this. But nothing else seemed to be going as she wanted it to. So she was resorting to desperate measures.

She placed her hands on either side of the ball and stared at it. She focused her magic into it and watched the clouds swirl inside of it.

Lord Voldemort hated divination. It was too imprecise. It was too easy to make it seem like exactly what you wanted it too. It was too easy to let it tell you exactly what you wanted to see. There wasn't really any magic in it, she thought. It was just seeing things and deciding what you made of it.

Still, she stared into the ball without really seeing anything. She let the clouds form inside. In her mind, she remembered seeing the battlefield all those years ago in school, and knowing that she'd wind up there.

She let the memories flood around her as she focused into the clouds in the ball. She saw images start to flash around inside. But there was nothing that took form. She stared more and more, letting time pass, letting her magic flow from her hands into the ball. After a few moments she focused on what she wanted to see.

My future. She thought. Show me my future. Show me what will happen. Show me what I must do.

The affect wasn't quick. It never was. She'd heard rumors that some seers could focus on the crystal ball for a moment and see what they intended to see. But divination never came easy to her. Like most things, she had to handle it with brute force.

She stared into it, willing it to show her something. The images started to form, but nothing stayed coherent for very long. She figured that meant the future wasn't very set. Of course, given that she had no real idea just what she should be doing, that didn't necessarily surprise her.

She saw flashes in the crystal. Something that looked like a long hallway leading to a doorway, and then something that looked like some type of barracks, or maybe a ward. They swirled into a Christmas tree with flashing lights, growing out of a pool of water. For the briefest of moments she thought she saw people skating around it.

But those images melded into a castle on an island with lightning flashing down on it. And that changed to cats scrambling across everything. Cats changed to snakes, and then one snake, slithering through a forest. But that snake had no head.

The clouds billowed around the ball faster and faster, images flashing around before she could even really make out what they were. Her arms strained with the effort of holding the magic into the crystal ball. She saw a gigantic open room, an atrium of sorts perhaps, with water spilling over the floor. She saw ghostly figures writhing around, fleeing from something hooded and dark. And then barren tundra that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. All of that flashed through the crystal culminating in the briefest of flashes of an apple on a desk. She thought for sure it was going to burst, before everything slowed down.

And then she was back in the corridor, moving toward the door. And then the clouds dripped down the surface of the ball, like blood flowing from a wound.

Lord Voldemort pulled herself away from the crystal. She stared at it for a moment, annoyed, as if glaring at it would make it make more sense. But nothing particularly came of it. Her mind lingered on the blood as she stepped out onto her balcony. She leaned on the railing and looked down over the city.

"Nagini?" she hissed into the darkness, despite knowing full well that she'd be able to sense the snake if it was near her. There was no response. She'd sent it to the Ministry, on Snape's information.

The Order of the Phoenix was guarding something in the ministry. Something that they didn't want her to get her hands on. They figured, correctly, that she wouldn't just walk in during the day and take it. But they seemed to be under the impression that she'd try to sneak in at night and steal it.

Dumbledore must have thought she was stupid. By now she figured he would have known better. Like it wasn't obvious, stationing a person outside of the Hall of Prophecy, just what they were guarding.

But he knew she knew the prophecy. She suspected it was some type of reverse psychology. To distract her toward that rather than working on anything else. But she'd heard the prophecy. And she didn't put much stock in them anyway. There were exponentially more unfulfilled ones in the Hall of Prophecy than fulfilled ones.

Still, it was an insight into her enemy and she wasn't going to let them get away with that. It was almost too easy. She simply had Nagini hide and watch the door, and she learned the faces of new members of the Order of the Phoenix. It took a little digging, and chiding of Snape, to put names to some of the younger faces. But still, she felt she had a good start on the roster of what would almost certainly be future opponents.

But Nagini was yet to report back. She took her watch out of her pocket and stared down at the roman numerals on the square face. The snake was late enough she knew she needed to investigate.

She closed her eyes and reached out to the Snake, letting her spirit travel through London and to the Ministry of Magic. It only took a couple of moments for her to possess the creature. But it was already too late as she did.

Nagini's thoughts were nothing more than to feed and to kill. It was biting something repeatedly. Emily forced her will through the connection, forced the snake to stop. In her bloodlust it was hard to control, but Voldemort pulled Nagini from her victim.

It was fighting her. It only wanted to feed. But she overpowered it. She made it look at the man without biting again and her heart nearly stopped. She forced Nagini to slither from the ministry, making sure her snake was well clear of the ministry with orders to hide before she lifted herself from Nagini's mind.

She frowned down at the city again. She couldn't let Arthur Weasley die. That would throw an even bigger wrench in her plan. She knew he needed to be found soon, Nagini's venom was quite deadly. There was a chance it was already too late.

She couldn't break into the ministry and grab him herself. That would just set off more alarm bells than anything else. There was too much risk of being spotted by a painting or night security. And while they might not recognize her flat out, it would just be another bit of ammunition in Dumbledore's pocket for trying to prove she'd returned.

A disguise might have worked, but she didn't have enough time to properly make one that would stand up to magical examination, and she knew some of the portraits in the ministry had been charmed to see through such glamours.

She could always sacrifice Wormtail to the cause. But she had no doubt that Wormtail would spill everything he knew the moment he was captured. And that would also lead to the ministry realizing without any doubt that she was alive.

Snape was next. But she'd preferred him not knowing that she was spying on the Order based on his information. Giving Snape plausible deniability was equally crucial. She frowned, though. As Snape would just tell Dumbledore. And if anyone could save Arthur Weasley on short notice it would be Albus Dumbledore.

Then it hit her. Severus Snape wasn't the only one who could get information quickly to Albus Dumbledore. And Severus Snape also wasn't her only asset in Hogwarts.

She closed her eyes and concentrated much like she did with Nagini. This time it took slightly longer. She felt her spirit project through and then the world around her shifted.

She was in a room filled with mistletoe. It hung from every inch of the ceiling. Harry Potter stood in the middle of it all, looking a little bit confused. A young Asian girl stood in front of him. They looked up at the mistletoe and then started kissing.

But they were interrupted. A bushy brunette pulled him from the Asian girl, and under her own mistletoe, and kissed him. And then a determined looking redhead did the same, followed shortly by two Indian girls, and then a blonde.

Lord Voldemort chuckled quietly at the scene as she prepared to shatter it, summoning up the memory from when she possessed the snake. She focused back on Harry, just in time to see a far too familiar Brunette take him into her arms. She shattered it all then, forcing the memory of Nagini attacking Mr. Weasley onto him.

The scene shifted into a replay from moments earlier. She saw the snake bite Arthur again and again, attacking him repeatedly, taking chunks out of his flesh over and over. She watched as the perspective shifted into the snake. She heard Harry scream as he woke up.

She forced herself away after that. She knew it wouldn't do him any good to realize exactly what happened. Let him think it was a vision in a dream. It would work out well for her if he thought he was the snake. If he thought he'd done the acts.

Voldemort paused once she left his mind. There wasn't much more she could do, she knew. Now, it would simply be a waiting game. She had to hope that Dumbledore would be talented enough, quick enough, to mobilize enough support to save Arthur Weasley.

She stepped out of the apartment, locking the door and moving down to the ground level. She wondered just what Dumbledore would think of the events of the evening. She wondered how much of her plan he could possibly figure out. If Severus's reports were accurate, he wasn't even on the right track yet. But tonight could endanger that.

Still, she knew that nothing good could come from sitting around and waiting. So instead she started to walk through London, heading toward the safe space she'd sent the snake to hide. It was time to punish Nagini for disobeying her orders. Her snake had grown a bit rebellious in the last few months, like some of her Death Eaters seemed to be after her long absence.

That was of no consequence though. She could beat that behavior out of them, one way or another. And her snake was no exception to that rule.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Chapter 13

The Citadel of Nurmengard still loomed in the distance. The gigantic shield still latched onto the top of the fortress, preventing anything from coming or going. Dumbledore had explained the spell to Emily and a few other wizards. He'd effectively bound everyone who was in the building to stay inside the building.

He'd flat out admitted that Grindelwald would be able to break through it. He knew it was just a matter of time. He figured it would take at least a week to be able to break through it. Five days if Grindelwald had more men than Dumbledore anticipated.

The headmaster had left the city. He'd gone back to the rear lines to try to find more wizards to help with the taking of the citadel. They knew it would be enchanted. A decade earlier some Wizards had tried to break in. If they stories were true, Grindelwald had killed them in mere minutes.

That was all the gossip around the camp. All anyone seemed to talk about was Grindelwald. It bored Emily, or at least Harry assumed it did, because after the first day she spent more time among the compliment of Muggle soldiers that lingered around the city.

Harry noticed immediately that she was quite popular in her form-fitting leathers. They often just stared at her from afar as she wandered about. Some tried to speak and flirt with her. But she didn't really give them more than a few minutes of their time.

As a whole, he thought she seemed particularly uninterested in day to day. She spent most of her evenings just staring at the citadel and waiting for something to happen.

On the second night she offered to cook up some fish that a few of the wizards had managed to catch. She spent a good long time finding ingredients to add flavor before roasting it over an open fire.

The general consensus was that it wasn't very good. Emily went to bed looking rather annoyed at that, muttering to herself about never making anything for them again. Harry couldn't help but think she looked cute when she was frustrated.

That thought, though, shocked him. He stared at her for a moment in the memory, as it dawned on him that he just called the Dark Lord that murdered his family cute. He wasn't sure what was worse, that he'd actually voiced that in his head. Or that he actually had to focus on that in his head. And that he had to force himself to deny it in his head.

He turned his attention back to the memory. It was speeding around, days passing. By the time it slowed again he figured it was around the fourth night since the battle. Dumbledore was set to return in the following morning.

The wizards had spent most of the day discussing just how they were going to break into the citadel. They knew they'd have to, at some point. They knew that the war would not end until Grindelwald was defeated.

So they plotted. They spent two days sitting around and discussing the types of enchantments that could possibly be on the citadel. They tried to imagine what they would face in the castle. But they couldn't possibly imagine just what waited inside.

Some of them spent the time trying to come up with protective enchantments or anything that could probably be used to help them in the days to come. But they waited and waited, in a holding pattern of sorts. A pattern that Harry couldn't help but think was driving them crazy, as it was driving him up the wall simply watching it.

Emily left after not too long and eventually though, she forced herself to sleep. They'd taken over a small house amid the wreckage. It had been mostly leveled but they'd restored it with magic. She'd set herself up in a nook in the attic, her accommodations consisting of little more than a cot, blanket, and a private bathroom.

She climbed up the stairs and curled up on the cot. She stared blankly off into the wall before closing her eyes.

The next thing Harry said noticed was an explosion. It jarred Emily awake. She stared out the window and crawled out of her bed quickly, she joined other Wizards rushing down the stairs to the exit. They were all still dressed in their combat gear.

As soon as Emily stepped back outside Harry noticed the silvery shield that was around the top level of Grindelwald's citadel had shattered. Dark misty figures were pouring out of it. Emily grabbed her wand and stared off at the tower.

"Is our anti-apparation jinx holding?" One man shouted.

"It appears so. They're fleeing to the outskirts," another shouted.

"We can't let them get away," a third said.

"But we don't have Dumbledore!" the second man said, sounding alarmed at the possibility of engaging the dark wizards.

"We'll have to make due. We can't let Grindelwald get way, no matter what," the first man said as he rushed off toward the tower. Emily nodded and followed after him, the others joining in behind her.

There were only maybe ten of them as they approached the citadel. Perhaps thirty of Grindelwald's supporters were fleeing north away from the tower. They broke off and gave chase. Flashes of light streaked through the sky, providing the only real light on the black night.

This time, though, the minority had the advantage as they could navigate through their own defenses put around the tower. They could apparate around and surprise the dark wizards. They were on specific orders from Dumbledore to try to stun and not kill, but moments into the battle that seemed to go out the window. Harry suspected that it had something to do with instinctual reactions as soon as the first lethal curse was thrown their way.

Emily raced after them as well. She stunned one of Grindelwald's wizards before shielding a blasting curse from another. She staggered back and fired her own blasting curse at the man. Harry thought it looked like the spell was going to sail high, but the other wizard went to shield it anyway. But she surprised him by conjuring a gust of wind that forced him up just enough for the blasting curse to impact on the top of his skull.

Harry gagged slightly as the headless body fell to the ground. He wondered how people coped with it in combat. She barely even seemed to notice the effect. Harry wondered just how they could keep going with so much death around him. He wondered if they even really realized what was going on. Emily looked totally focused on anything but the corpses.

But then she stopped. She paused for a moment before turning back toward the citadel. She looked confused, like she thought something was wrong. She paused to turn her attention back north, to where Grindelwald's supporters seemed to be trying to pull Dumbledore's away from the city.

She started to walk toward the citadel, rather than joining in in fighting the dark wizards. She stared up at the tower, up toward the top of it where Grindelwald had fired lightning down on them, and she waited.

Moments later he emerged, walking straight out of the main exit of the citadel. He was dressed in a crisp black uniform like all of the rest of his soldiers. Gellert Grindelwald was the perfect Aryan, with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness. She would not have been surprised to learn that Hitler had taken one look at his physique, his tall form, his bright charismatic eyes, and decided that he was the highest form of man. She knew he was in his sixties, but, like most wizards, he looked much younger than that.

He was not surprised in the least to see her.

"So they only left one guard?" he laughed, looking toward the north where the battle raged. He twirled a long, dark wand in his hand. She tensed and raised her own wand.

He reacted instantly, faster than any opponent she'd ever faced. She couldn't even identify the color or the type of spell he shot at her, and Harry could barely follow his movements in the memory. She managed to parry it, but before she'd barely had time to recover he'd sent a second, and then a third spell at her.

She parried the second and shielded the third. Whatever the spell was it destroyed her shield charm instantly, the flash of the shattering silver magic lighting the sky for a fraction of a second.

Grindelwald walked toward her as he cast spells, each seeming faster and faster than the last. Emily buckled under his barrage, doing little more than shielding and parrying and looking shocked at the power that was hitting her over and over. He never spoke an incantation as he attacked.

After perhaps twenty spells he stopped abruptly and started laughing. Emily had parried his last spell but the force from it had knocked her down. She landed in a puddle of mud, nearly dropping her wand, her eyes wide and frightened like she expected the end to come in moments. But Grindelwald didn't finish her. Instead he raised his arm and looked at a cut on his pristine uniform.

"You are quick," he said. "When did you manage to get that off?"

"Between your seventh and eighth spells," Emily responded quietly, pulling herself to her feet. Grindelwald was barely paying attention to her as he healed the wound and mended his uniform.

"And you managed to count them, well done," he said. "A bludgeoner would have been more effective than a cutter, though."

"Easier for you to spot," Emily countered.

"Perhaps," he said. "But if I let a bludgeoner hit me it will do far more lasting damage than a cutter. And if I change tactic to defend it you may have been able to press the offensive."

"Why are we talking?" Emily spat, her eyes wide and angry. Harry noticed she was far more winded than Grindelwald, who seemed barely fussed by the entire confrontation.

"Are you so eager to die?" Grindelwald asked.

"I am not afraid of you," Emily said. "I will not let you escape."

"Pity," he said softly. Something about his tone annoyed Emily. She shouted a spell Harry didn't recognize, pointing her wand at Grindelwald's feet. The mud around him started crawling up his legs, attempting to root him in place. He dispelled it on his left leg quickly but before he could do the right Emily threw another curse at him. As he parried it the mud beneath him reattached to his leg, again trying to pull him down into it.

She kept firing spells at him, curses Harry recognized, ones designed to break bones and sever limbs. She focused at his lower body, trying to hit the areas he couldn't move. But Grindelwald blocked them easily. Harry noticed Emily looking wild as she tried to hit him with anything she could. But she couldn't break his defenses. Eventually he grew annoyed and threw his wand above his head, spinning it in rapid circles while he muttered an incantation in German. He slashed his wand down at her. A squall of wind cut through her incoming spells, deflecting them off into the night, before crashing into her. She flew back fifteen feet, landing hard on the muddy ground.

Harry watched her body tremble. She didn't move much for a few moments. But eventually she started to pull herself to her feet. Just in time to see Grindelwald throw up a large shield around himself, one that looked rather similar to the one that Dumbledore had used on the tower.

He hadn't needed to. He'd dispelled himself before Emily had pulled herself to her feet.

"Clever," he said quietly. "Using the environment as a weapon. Advanced. Most don't think to use everything around them. The element of surprise wins many more fights than simply slinging recognizable spells."

"Shut up," Emily snapped in annoyance. Grindelwald just laughed at her.

"Just who are you anyway. I like to know who I kill," Grindelwald said.

"Avada Kedavra," Emily said, slashing her wand at him. Grindelwald apparated away, straight through the defenses Dumbledore had set up. He looked slightly worn when he appeared again behind her, wincing at an unseen pain. He hit her with a blast of magic as he appeared. It was simply a quick, unformed spell and it knocked her into the dirt once more.

"That was not nice," Grindelwald said as Emily attempted to pull herself back onto her feet. "Now let's see." He slashed his wand at Emily as she was almost to her feet. She screamed, her muddied hands flashing up to her head.

"Get out!" Emily gasped, pulling at her hair.

"Emily Riddle," Grindelwald said coldly. "Head Girl. You haven't even taken exams yet. Cute. Is that how low Dumbledore has stooped? An untrained mess like you? Oh two straight British Youth dueling titles? That's mildly impressive. How did you find it translated?"

"Stupefy!" Emily yelled, but Grindelwald deflected the spell with ease, as if he knew it was coming well before she'd even cast it.

"What else do we have here? Oh, there's the rage. Come now, Emily, do you really think some dead Muggles really matters in the grand scheme of things? Please, they're nothing more than frightened animals. Oh but you're fond of some of them. Who's the young man? He's handsome. Perhaps I'll find him when I'm done here."

"Protego," Emily said weakly, throwing the shield between her and Grindelwald. It had no effect and simply flickered away moments after appearing. Grindelwald kept his hand on her. She fell to her knees, clenching her eyes closed, her hands and wand in the muddy ground.

Harry could see her whole body shaking. For a moment, he thought steam was coming off of her. But instead, he noticed the purple and green magic was ruminating from her. Grindelwald seemed intrigued, he actually laughed.

"Oh, so you're the one," he said. "You are the one who broke through the defensive line around Dumbledore and allowed him to block off my perch. You are strong, Emily. Not as strong as Albus or myself. But you have raw power. Surely you can see how magic must rule. Surely you can see how it is for the greater good that we rule."

"Get out of my head," Emily snarled. She raised her head to look at Grindelwald, her hair falling down around her wild eyes.

"Oh Emily we're just getting started," Grindelwald laughed. "Perhaps now I'll just shut down your motor function for a moment and implant it so that seeing Dumbledore makes you attack. Maybe you can finish my work for me. It's not like you can force me from your head. You're far too weak for that."

"Maybe," Emily gasped. Her eyes focusing on Grindelwald. And then, to Harry's astonishment, she smiled. "But it goes both ways." And all of the green and purple dusky magic that was floating out of her shot straight at Grindelwald. It hit him square in the head and then images seemed to flash everywhere.

Harry saw ghosts of Grindelwald and Hitler delivering speeches to troops, he saw Grindelwald watching people enter camps. He saw Grindelwald watching people enter furnaces. He saw the orders for invasion, the orders for bombings, and so much more.

He saw a prison of sorts, an escape, and a quest. But he couldn't possibly describe the flashed images as more than that.

Before he knew it he saw Grindelwald searching for something, but he had no idea what. He saw him in what looked like New York, but in tunnels, underground more often than not. He saw him seem to find what he wanted, only to lose it.

He saw more searching and searching and searching until it all led back to Godric's Hollow. Harry watched a young Dumbledore, another young man, and a young Grindelwald duel. He saw a girl run into the fight only to be struck down by a spell. Harry looked up to see the man who'd cast the spell standing before him. But in that moment, the illusions vanished.

"You bitch," Grindelwald snapped. He was pulling himself to his feet as Emily did the same.

"You started it," Emily said petulantly.

"You fucking bitch," Grindelwald said again. This time he leveled his wand on her and the spells resumed. He barraged her from all angles. Spells of every color flew at her. She shielded some, she dodged some, and she parried some. But his barrage was constant. They were spells Harry had never seen, the landscape virtually dissolving around her as some shot wide or were deflected off.

He managed to throw debris from the earlier battle at her at the same time, never seeming to lose track of anything he was doing. Emily moved purely out of desperation, her eyes locking on each incoming threat for a moment as she thought of how to deal with her.

She lasted nearly twenty minutes. After five, Grindelwald started to glow a pale silvery color, looking a bit like the moon when it was shrouded behind light clouds. He moved faster and faster and cast more and more spells at her. At first she matched him the purple and green smoke emanating from her as she used more and more magic.

But she started to slow quickly. A curse caught her in the stomach and she gagged up blood almost instantly. Her body flushed with warmth as the spell hit her. She seemed to know that more spells would be on the way. So she rolled away from another only to see a chunk of a tank flying toward her. She threw a shield up randomly at it, hoping to block it, but as she did Grindewald turned the tank chunk into a sheet of molten lava. It melted through her shield and splashed on her back as she rolled back to her feet.

He saw the orange liquid start to eat through the back of her dragonhide armor. She shrieked as it burned through and burned her skin. She dove into a puddle of mud to counteract it, but Grindelwald changed the brown liquid into a green one the moment he did. Emily shrieked more and rolled out of it. As soon as she wound up on her back an obsidian spear impaled through her right shoulder, locking her in place. She dropped her wand into the mud as she struggled against it for a moment before Grindelwald appeared over her.

"And that's that," Grindelwald said above her. "You lasted longer than expected. But in the end you were not nearly good enough. Now burning or drowning?"

Emily stared up at him. She coughed again, some blood splattering down onto her chest. The leftover acid was still burning through her armor and clothing underneath, but as a much slower pace.

"Drowning it is," he said. "I prefer drowning. It takes longer and the struggling is more fun to watch." He looked down at Emily, as if expecting her to respond. But she didn't. He sighed after a moment and turned his wand at her, pointing it toward her mouth.

"Aguamenti," he said. The jet of water erupted from his directly toward her mouth. He forced it there, on her face, water eruption over her nose and mouth. She struggled against the spear, gagged against the water, and trying to reach her fallen wand with her pinned hand. It lasted far longer than Harry would have thought anyone could survive.

But eventually a blinding flash of red and silver light hit the battlefield. For a moment, Harry thought the sun must have miraculously appeared it was so bright. But instead it was Albus Dumbledore, accompanied by another witch and wizard Harry did not recognize. Although he thought he'd seen a portrait of one of them at the Ministry of Magic.

"Torturing a girl out of spite? That is enough, Gel," Dumbledore said quietly. He held his wand between Grindelwald and Emily Riddle. The water stopped its assault on her face and Grindelwald turned to face them.

"Hello Albus," Grindelwald smiled at Albus Dumbledore. He turned to face him, leveling his wand on him cautiously, but not yet casting a spell.

"Wilhelmina, is she still alive?" Dumbledore asked. The witch with him rushed toward Emily. Grindelwald stepped away from her body as Dumbledore approached him at the same time.

"Yes," Wilhelmina said quietly.

"Make sure she stays that way," Dumbledore said.

"Leonard help me," Wilhelmina said after nodding to Dumbledore. The man with him rushed over to her as well. Harry watched as they started frantically casting spells on her. HE stepped over to that portion of the memory as well, he saw blood pool from the spear in her arm, her whole body was shaking, and pink burns littered the areas where the acid had burned through her armor. Her eyes were open but slowly drooping and she wasn't even attempting speech. The two casters focused on her.

"Do you really think can beat me, Dumbledore?" Grindelwald laughed. He held up his wand, as if displaying it for a moment.

"Yes," Albus said confidently.

"Well then we shall find out," Grindelwald said. He slashed his wand at Dumbledore and an arching silver scythe of magic rained down on the Headmaster. Dumbledore slashed his own wand across it, throwing a gigantic column of fire through it and straight at Grindelwald. Again, light flashed from the battlefield and Harry turned his attention back to the duel. Neither of the combatants said anything. They just slashed and parried and battled. Even in the memory he felt like he could feel the power of their spells colliding. The earth around them became pockmarked with explosions from the spells they used.

Harry watched intently, wondering how much of the three hour long duel he'd get to see. Wondering just how brilliant the fight between these two legendary wizards could possibly be. But it only lasted mere moments as the sun started to rise on the horizon. Slowly the memory became foggy and started to fade away. Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach and turned back toward Leonard, Emily, and Wilhelmina.

Emily was still on the ground, the spear removed from her arm, her injuries in the early stages of healing. But her eyes were closed. And Harry knew she was about to lose consciousness. He turned his gaze back to Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore hoping to catch another glimpse of the duel. But as soon as he did it was all over. Everything rushed away melting around them.

And then Harry found himself in a room he was far too familiar with. The infirmary at Hogwarts hadn't changed much in fifty odd years. He was standing next to Emily Riddle's bed as her dark eyes very slowly opened.

She sat up, leaning back against the pillow, the blankets falling around her. She wore a cream colored nightgown with a high neck. Harry assumed it must have just been the hospital garb of the time. She looked around for a moment, just in time to see Dumbledore enter from the nurse's office.

"Did we win?" she asked, hoarsely, her hand fluttering to her throat as she spoke. Dumbledore moved to the sink and conjured a glass that he filled with water before offering it to her. She drank deeply from it.

"Yes," he said, sounding almost sad about it.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Grindelwald was subdued. The war is over," he said simply. She put the glass of water down on the bedside table.

"So what happens now?" she asked.

"You'll be awarded an Order of Merlin, second class, like all of the other survivors. Congratulations. And I've arranged for you to stay here and sit your exams as soon as you're feeling up to it."

"I'm ready whenever," Emily said quietly.

"No you are not," Dumbledore said. "You've been in a magically induced coma for the last three days while they drained the water from your lungs and treated your burns. He cursed the spear he impaled you on too. Excessive, in my opinion, but they almost had to take the arm. Tell me, did he curse you in the stomach at all?"

"I don't remember, why?" Emily asked.

"Gellert always believed a spell should have more than one affect. And Wilhelmina was not getting satisfactory readings from," Dumbledore started. Emily frowned.

"Oh I see," Emily said. Harry thought her expression seemed like she didn't want to talk about her uterus with Albus Dumbledore.

"She would like to discuss that with you more once you're feeling up to it. But without identifying the exact curse there's a good chance she will never be able to counter it," Albus said.

"So no lasting physical injuries but I might be barren," Emily said bluntly.

"Yes. But we won't know until more diagnostics are cast and time passes," Dumbledore said.

"When can I get out of here?" Emily asked, gesturing around the hospital.

"A few more days," Dumbledore said. He turned to leave her alone.

"I can't believe how strong he was," Emily said quietly. Dumbledore paused in the doorway.

"You did well by keeping him there until I could show up, Emily. You did more than your part to end the war," Albus said. "Now rest." He left before she could comment. She slid back down on her pillows and rolled onto her side. She had a rather determined expression on her face as she curled into a ball. But before he could ponder what that expression meant she closed her eyes and the memories flashed forward once more.

Harry watched her sit her exams. He watched her pass every practical examination. He watched her graduate. He watched her move back to London. He saw her apply for jobs. He saw her interview at the ministry for what seemed like hundreds of jobs, at Flourish and Blotts, at a couple of other assorted shops, and he saw the rejections that came with every pass.

He watched as her clothing grew slightly more disheveled, he saw her living in what must have been a flophouse, he saw her try to get a job at the same orphanage that had sent her away during the war.

He watched her stare at herself in the mirror for hours on end. He could feel her depression building. He could feel her desperation. He watched her eyes muggles in the street, twirling her wand in her hand, while she struggled to even afford to live. He could see her wondering just what she'd done wrong, why she couldn't get help.

But then it came. Toward the end of August she sat down and interviewed at Borgin and Burke's. She got the job, starting as a salesperson in their shop, with opportunity to do more if she proved herself. It wasn't much, but she was beaming when she left the shop.

"Wake up Harry," Ron said. "We're going to the hospital to see dad."

"Okay," Harry said groggily. He'd fallen asleep with the diary next to him in bed. He couldn't have gotten more than two or three hours of sleep. Ron left the room, undoubtedly going downstairs to find breakfast. Harry showered and dressed before stepping back into the bedroom.

Hermione had joined them a few days before, after the term had ended properly. They'd been cooped up in the house except for the daily visits to St. Mungo's Hospital. If Harry was honest, his favorite part of the day was the walk there, just because he got some fresh air.

He threw Emily's diary along with a couple of text books into his bag. He doubted that Snape would actually let him take the exam he missed by leaving early, but he figured he should at least do some extra studying for it. He shoved his invisibility cloak into the bag as well, just to be safe. After that he slung the bag over his shoulder and joined the others for breakfast.

He sat quietly while everyone ate, only partaking in a small bit of eggs himself. He actually regretted it almost immediately as it just reminded him of how everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around him. He cursed himself for thinking in puns.

After everyone had eaten they moved as a large group to the hospital once more. Harry was beginning to feel more at home at St. Mungo's than he hoped to ever be. They walked directly to Mr. Weasley's room. Harry felt like the rather odd man out as the conversation started.

"Arthur you still look so pale!" Mrs. Weasley spat.

"It's the venom," Mr. Weasley responded.

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Weasley said.

"The poison doesn't seem to leave his blood, no matter what remedies we offer," Healer Pye said to Mrs. Weasley. "At best we seem to only be able to delay it."

"What?" Mrs. Weasley spat. "You said he was going to be alright!"

"Well he's stable," Healer Pye said. "But without a better antidote he will have to remain in this ward for a while."

"That is unacceptable!" Mrs. Weasley said.

"Kids why don't you go and get us some coffee or tea from the lunch room," Arthur Weasley said to his kids plus Harry and Hermione. Harry nodded and was the first one out of the room.

"We have all of our potions masters working on a solution! But it's very difficult to dilute the venom from his blood to use it as a proper ingredient," he heard Healer Pye yell, attempting to talk over Mrs. Weasley, as the other Weasley kids joined him.

Harry walked behind the twins toward the lunch room. They waited in line for coffee. Harry stared down at his own mug once he got it, not taking a sip of the dark liquid. He didn't bother adding any sugar or cream, knowing full well he probably wasn't going to drink it anyway.

They moved slowly back toward Mr. Weasley's room. As they turned down the correct hallway they saw Healer Pye walk from the room as Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt entered. Lupin closed the door behind them and locked it with a click.

"We should go wait in the cafeteria," Hermione said.

"Okay," Ron agreed, turning to walk with her. Harry shrugged and moved to follow.

"Nah," George Weasley said.

"Let's listen in," Fred Weasley added, holding up a handful of their extendable ears.

"Okay," Ginny said.

"Awesome," Ron added, turning back toward the door. Moments later, after settling Hermione's protestations, they were all listening in on the conversation between the Order members.

"So without the snake they have no idea how long it will take to make a proper antidote?" Kingsley asked.

"Correct," Arthur Weasley said. "How is Fudge taking my absence?"

"Poorly," Shacklebolt said. "You better come up with a great excuse as to why you were there after hours and so far from your department."

"I will," Arthur said. "I know a couple of Unspeakables. I'm sure I can convince one to be an alibi. Just was meeting him at the end of his shift before we were going to go grab a drink. Not unheard of."

"Well there will be an inquiry. So make sure you can trust whoever you pick," Kingsley said.

"I will," Arthur responded.

"Could Harry perhaps be of use with the snake?" Lupin asked.

"I doubt it," Kingsley said.

"How could he possibly be of use?" Molly snapped. "Just what do you think he is?"

"Well Dumbledore did say in the dream he had where he attacked Arthur, he was the snake," Lupin said.

"So what of it? Prophetic dreams are not unheard of. It was probably nothing more than the lingering effects of a divination class. Lord knows just what that hag is smoking in that classroom that impairs their senses," Molly snapped.

"Or You-Know-Who is possessing him," Lupin said.

"Oh that's nonsense," Molly said. "Even if he was he couldn't have possibly gotten to London and back that quickly."

"True enough," Kingsley said.

"Dumbledore is still worried about their connection, though," Lupin said.

"What do you mean?" Molly asked.

"He's avoiding Harry this year because he's convinced that You-Know-Who can get into his head. He thinks that she can control him. And that if they're in close proximity it will give her more of an excuse to do so.

"So he does really think You-Know-Who could possess Harry?" Arthur asked.

"He's positive she could. And doesn't want to give her any added insentive to do so," Lupin said.

Harry pulled the extendable ear out of his own, not wanting to hear any more of that conversation. As he stepped away from the door, he noticed all of his other friends were staring at him, their eyes wide. The only thing that pulled their eyes from his was another green robed Healer pushing a cart down the hall.

She stopped outside the room, just after the Weasley twins managed to hide the evidence of their subterfuge, and knocked once. Harry stared at her as Kingsley opened the door. She was young, with dark hair and dark eyes and a face he'd never seen before. And, when she spoke, a voice he'd never heard before. Still, something about her felt familiar.

"Your next potion is ready," she said to Arthur as she entered the room.

"Will this one finally work?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"I have a good feeling about it," the Healer said. She heated up a small goblet of a clear liquid potion, stirring it twice, counter-clockwise with her wand before offering it to Mr. Weasley. He drank it without hesitance, making a face as he did.

"That's bloody awful," he said after he swallowed it down.

"We'll come back to check on your progress in a couple of hours," the Healer said as she pushed the cart out of the room.

"Oh boys," Arthur said, seeing the twins in the doorway after the Healer left. "Sorry but we're going to need a few minutes. Why don't you go get lunch at the cafeteria?"

"Okay," Ron said as Kingsley moved over to the door and once again shut them out. The twins immediately reached for their extendable ears. But Harry didn't want to hear more.

"I'm going to find something to eat," he said. Thankfully, Hermione and Ginny agreed to accompany him right away. Ron hesitated for a moment but joined them. The twins, though, refused, and went back to eavesdropping.

"So I probably shouldn't ask," Ginny said quietly. "But do you think you're being possessed?"

"No," Harry said, almost too quickly.

"When it happened to me," Ginny continued as they sat down at a table in the cafeteria. Ron wandered over toward the food, grabbing himself a sandwich and returning moments later. "I had long stretches of memory missing. Does that ever happen to you?"

"No," Harry said. It wasn't entirely true. He never really remembered what happened to his body while he was viewing the diary. And that had been exactly what had happened to Ginny. Except he always came to in exactly the same place, in exaction the same position, and he could pull himself out at will. Sure, at first he really couldn't. But now he could enter and leave as he pleased.

When Voldemort had possessed Ginny, the youngest Weasley child often found herself somewhere with no memory of exactly how she'd gotten there. Harry had never experienced that.

"You have seemed oddly distant lately though, Harry," Hermione said. "One of the books I read said that could be a sing of some type of mind magic being used against you."

"No one is using mind magic against me," Harry said.

"Well that's the trouble with mind magic," Ginny said. "You would probably say that even if they were."

"I don't think Lord Voldemort," everyone but him flinched from the name, "is going to try to possess me," Harry said.

"You can't possibly know that though," Hermione said. It annoyed Harry that she was right. He had no idea what Lord Voldemort was planning. And he had no idea what she was capable of.

"Well I don't think that she has been," Harry said.

"But you wouldn't know," Hermione said.

"Probably not," Ginny said. "But he would suspect. I knew something was wrong when it was happening to me. Do you feel like something is wrong, Harry?"

"No," he responded. It wasn't true. He felt like lots of things were wrong. But he didn't think they had anything to do with Lord Voldemort. He felt angry more often than not, he had weird dreams of hallways and doors and now snakes attacking people. He hated being in what, until months ago, was his favorite class, and he felt more stressed at Hogwarts than he ever remembered being. But none of those things screamed Lord Voldemort to him.

"Well then I think you're probably okay," Ginny nodded sagely. Harry just nodded, not really paying attention to the little redhead. Instead he gazed down the cafeteria. He suddenly really didn't want to be there, talking about whether or not Lord Voldemort was invading his mind with them. But he couldn't think of a way out, or a way to even go.

He saw the same green-robed healer that had delivered a potion to Mr. Weasley. He watched her walk through the cafeteria and out toward the main hallway, heading toward the main entrance.

"I'm going to go use the bathroom," Harry said. He was standing and halfway to it before Hermione could suggest to Ron to follow him rather than eat. He stepped around the hallway, past the sign pointing to the restroom, and followed the witch.

He wasn't sure just why he was doing it. Or what part of him was telling him to do so. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he was following her, or just trying to escape the hospital. All he really knew was that he wanted to escape the helping hands and concerned looks and tense conversations.

After only a couple more steps he felt the cool winter air hit him and he stepped outside. He turned and followed after the green robed figure. She stepped into a nearby alley. He followed.

He saw the lime green robes dissolve into a short black dress, stockings and boots with a long coat. He saw her features shift and change, magic seeming to pull at her cheek bones, the angle of her eyes, and pushing in her dimple as it circled around her. And then he saw Emily Riddle, and she looked rather startled.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, backing into the wall of the alley and looking at him.

"Emily," he responded coldly as he felt anger rushed through him. It was entirely her fault that Mr. Weasley was hurt. She was to blame. She was evil. He reached for his wand and noticed she made no move toward hers.

"There's no need for that," she said quietly. "I was just leaving."

"What was in that potion you gave Mr. Weasley," he snapped.

"An antidote to Nagini's venom," Emily said.

"Why?" he asked, his wand staying level on her.

"It's easier to stay dead," she lied. "When other people's deaths can't be blamed on you."

"I don't believe you," he said. "They'll still investigate. They'll still figure it out."

"Maybe," Emily said. "But I suspect they'll look for any other reason to explain it away."

"Why did you attack him?" Harry asked. Emily frowned at him.

"I didn't attack him. My snake attacked him," Emily said.

"It operates on your orders," Harry accused.

"It does yes. And it was there on my orders. But it's also a living creature that possesses it's very own sense of will," Emily sighed. "And I can't make it do whatever I want it to at all times."

"I don't believe you," Harry said.

"That's fine," Emily said, sounding like she wasn't particularly concerned with that detail.

"What was it even doing there?" Harry asked.

"Spying," Emily said.

"On?" Harry asked.

"The Order of the Phoenix," Emily rolled her eyes, like she was annoyed. Harry stared at her for a moment. He couldn't remember her acting so put out in his presence before. It seemed off. Like something was bothering her. Like she didn't want to be there. In the past she'd always made him seem special when they were around, by smiling or honesty, or just being pleasant. Now she was being very standoffish.

"What's wrong?" he asked carefully.

"Nothing," she said. "But you should step back into the hospital. I'm sure you're friends are looking for you." Harry turned his gaze to the hospital but he did not move toward it.

"You seem bitchier than normal," Harry said. He regretted it immediately. Her eyes flashed at him and they were anything but playful.

"Try again," she said calmly, but her entire body tensed with anger. Harry flushed with embarrassment.

"I mean you seem colder," he said quietly.

"Well I'm sorry but I'm not the one who got a letter claiming you were evil, mean, and that I never wanted to see you again, that I hated you, and that I hoped you disappeared forever," Emily said. Harry blinked at her and then blushed more. After a few moments he couldn't bring himself to keep looking at her, so he looked away. As he turned his gaze away from her he lowered his wand.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," Harry said quietly.

"No you're not," Emily responded. "But anyway, Mr. Weasley will be fine."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly.

"Don't mention it," Emily said. Then she smirked. "Literally, don't mention it."

"I won't," Harry said.

"Good, now run along before your friends come looking for you," Emily said. Harry turned to go. But then it hit him again just how much he did not want to return to the hospital. So he paused and turned back to face her.

"I don't want to go back there," he said. "They're just afraid of me. They'll just want to discuss their theories on what happened. They'll just continue to act afraid to even be around me."

"Well I'm sorry about that. But you also don't want them to find you chatting with me. It's never good to be seen having an idle conversation with your mortal enemy," Emily said.

"You swore no harm would come to me in your presence," Harry countered. "You said that back in the park."

"Well yes but that only applied to the park," Emily said.

"And you said it outside the restaurant when you gave me that knife," Harry countered.

"Okay fine, there too," Emily said. "Now go." She waved him away with an airy hand. He turned like he was going to. But after a moment he turned back to her.

"Let's go somewhere," he blurted out.

"Excuse me?" she asked, staring at him.

"I don't want to go back there," he said. "I need to be away from them."

"You know who you're talking to, right?" Emily asked, looking moderately incredulous.

"Yes," Harry said.

"I'm evil," she said.

"You're not going to hurt me," Harry said quietly. "You would have already if you were going to."

"I feel like I should curse you just for saying that," Emily said.

"Go ahead," Harry smiled at her. She scoffed and turned away from him.

"Fine. Go where?" she asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Anywhere that isn't here?"

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Not really," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You're not making this easy," Emily responded, exasperatedly.

"I don't care where. I just can't go back with the Order. I can't be stuck inside for another two weeks. I can't be in that house with people lecturing me. I can't take it I feel like I'm suffocating when I'm there," Harry said. His eyes were wide as he stared at her. Emily paused, shifting her weight on her hips and contemplating the boy before her.

Deep down she knew it had to be some type of a trick. There was no way that he would be willing to give up comfort and safety to spend time with her. It had to be a ruse. They had to be tracking him. There was no way, after his summer escapades that they would allow for him to wander off again.

This had to be part of Dumbledore's plan. Surely as soon as she walked away with him Dumbledore and a hundred Aurors would surround her. And that would be annoying to fight her way out of. Not impossible, but annoying.

But as she looked at him, something about those thoughts seemed so very wrong. His eyes were wide and desperate, like he was really afraid of going back to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

She stared at him for a moment, and then something inside of her broke. This was not her plan. This would hinder her plan. But she decided that she was going to roll with it. She could always abandon him later. She paused, chewing on her bottom lip and then took a deep, defeated breath.

"So you want to disappear," Emily said.

"Yes," Harry said. "At least until term starts back up."

"With me?" Emily asked quietly. She thought it odd that term starting did not seem to be a hard return date for him. She knew he must have felt the same affinity for Hogwarts that she did and that he must have wanted to return. But she let that linger.

"Better than alone," Harry said. Emily disagreed, but didn't comment.

"I don't know that I can keep you totally hidden in London without sequestering you inside," Emily said. "Especially not when the entire Ministry and Dumbledore will be looking for you."

"I don't think the Ministry cares. They'll probably just say it's some attention-seeking stunt," Harry said. Emily smiled at him, pleased that he seemed to understand just what his standing was at that point at the ministry of magic. And we could leave London," Harry said.

"Oh? We could just up and leave? Where would we go," she laughed as she said it, finding the idea growing more and more absurd.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Somewhere on the continent, maybe like Prague? Or somewhere in America, maybe like Chicago?"

"You know how absurd this sounds, right?" Emily said.

"Yes," Harry admitted. They could hear a commotion from the hospital entrance. Harry turned to look, looking alarmed.

"Harry, Harry, where are you?" Hermione Granger's voice rang through the street.

"Harry dear are you out here?" Molly Weasley's voice joined it.

"Oh no," Harry said. Emily paused and took a deep breath and held out her hand.

"Come here," she said.

"What?" Harry asked, as if he didn't hear her. But when he turned back and saw her outstretched hand he hesitated. He paused for the briefest of moments, and this his eyes flashed with determination. He reached out and took it and they vanished with a loud pop.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgement: This chapter was beta'd by Spicee.

Chapter 14

Emily let go of Harry's hand as soon as the popped into existence. She watched as he doubled over, gagging for air.

"You'll be fine in a moment. It's easier if you just give up and vomit though," Emily said. Harry glared at her through gagging but eventually composed himself.

"Did I just apparate?" he asked.

"No," Emily said sternly.

"Then how did we get here?" he asked.

"I apparated and pulled you along," Emily said.

"That's the same thing," Harry said.

"No," Emily responded. "It really isn't. Side along apparation is simply being forced along. You don't even have to focus on what's going on. Apparating yourself and another person requires intense focus and magical ability. It is hardly the same thing."

"I see," Harry said. He looked around as soon as the world stopped spinning. They were standing in a part of London he felt was oddly familiar but he couldn't place it. He looked up at the building they were standing outside of. It was a quaint looking, three story stone building.

"Are you coherent now?" Emily asked, looking over at Harry. He was still bent over as he looked around, but seemed to be doing better in the few moments since they'd arrived.

"I think so," Harry said slowly. "Where are we?"

"If I told you would it make any difference?" Emily asked. She took her wand out of her bag and turned her attention back to Harry.

"I meant more figuratively than literally," Harry said.

"We are at my apartment," Emily said.

"That sounds so weird," Harry commented.

"Well I do actually need to sleep, despite what some people seem to be convinced of. And I don't have some enchanted cavern or my very own castle," Emily said. She gazed up and down the street as if looking for Muggles. A couple was walking up toward the building. Emily watched them as they approached.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Caves are damp and it's a pain in the ass to keep the enchantments up on the castle, much less the general maintenance," Emily said dryly. Harry laughed quietly. Emily's expression didn't change and Harry wondered if she really was joking.

"I can't tell if you're kidding," Harry said, staring at her as the couple walked by. Emily took her wand out and stared at Harry.

"I'm being totally serious," she said. "In the long run the cave is a better option. It is considerably less of a hassle to enchant. Castles are a pain. All in all, though, I don't recommend either." She started waving her wand around him. Harry felt suddenly tingly.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked, his voice cracking with alarm.

"I'm keying you to the enchantments I have on my dwelling," Emily said. "And I'm going to be very, very cross with you if the second I do this Dumbledore shows up and we duel in the streets of London."

"What?" Harry asked, shaking his head like he was wondering if he heard her properly.

"I'm trusting you in that this isn't a trap," Emily said. Harry blinked at her, looking rather surprised by her comment.

"Why would it be a trap?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Emily asked.

"Because no one even knows that we ever even talk?" Harry said. "So who would lay the trap?"

"It wouldn't surprise me if the Order of the Phoenix was having you followed or tracked," Emily said, eyeing him carefully.

"Would they do that?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea," Emily said. "You're the member."

"No I'm not, they won't let minors in," Harry explained.

"Well there aren't any enchantments on you," Emily said.

"I thought you were just getting me into the building," Harry said.

"I lied," Emily responded. "Although I should probably do that as well or I'll just have a headache."

"How would that lead to a headache?"

"I have an intruder charm on the building that makes an annoying buzzing sound in my head any time a wizard that I have not explicitly given access to enters the building," Emily said.

"What's the point of that?" Harry asked.

"Alerting me," Emily said.

"Well obviously, but, well, I expected something more sinister I guess," Harry said.

"How much do you know about jinxes on specific locations?" Emily asked.

"Well not a lot I guess," Harry frowned. Emily sighed rather deliberately.

"I suppose it was fifth year they started teaching them. Magic always leaves a trace, Harry. The more complicated of a spell I put on the location, the more likely it is a passing witch or wizard notices the location," Emily explained. She tucked her wand behind her ear, part of it poking out through her hair, in a gestures that reminded him way too much of Luna Lovegood. She then walked up to the entrance of the building and held the door open for him.

"Aren't I supposed to hold the door for you?" Harry asked as he stepped into the rather sterile lobby of the building. The entryway was little more than a nook of mail boxes, a tiny, rather messy office, two elevators and a staircase. Emily moved to the staircase and again opened the door for him.

"Yes," She said dryly. Harry looked toward the stairs, wondering for the first time just what exactly he'd gotten himself into. But he stepped into the staircase and stared on the stairs.

"So," he said after the fifth step. "You don't want anything that will draw out someone's notice. But still want to be informed if something magical entered your building."

"Or if any spell is cast in a one block radius," Emily said.

"How often does that trigger?" he asked.

"It hasn't since I moved in," she said. He immediately noticed he was more winded by the stairs than she was.

"Why didn't we apparate straight inside?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"Because we would have both been immediately turned inside out," Emily responded dryly. "That's the one precaution I decided was worth any risk."

"I see," Harry said, remembering the hunks of flesh that had, at one time, been human bodies from her memory. "What floor anyway?"

"The last one," Emily responded.

"Of course," Harry sighed. But there weren't really that many steps. He held the door open to her once they reached the final landing. She stepped through and started walking down the hallway to the final door at the back of the building. She slipped her wand from her hair, holding it to the lock on the door. She paused for a moment before tapping it once. Harry heard the click and watched as she opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

His first thought was that it smelled amazing.

His second was that it was both nothing like he expected, and yet, exactly what he thought it would be. The entry of the apartment opened into a small entryway into the kitchen. Despite the age of the building, the specific unit had all modern appliances and was furnished in a very muggle style. A small dining area joined the kitchen. It didn't look like it got much use. The breakfast bar adjoining the kitchen counter had cookbooks resting on it. Harry noticed a slow cooker plugged into the wall and could see a chicken resting in it.

The kitchen led into the living room. He noticed she had a rather Spartan existence, there did not seem to be anything in frivolous in the apartment, with the exception of a violin leaning against a wall next to a music stand. Other than that there was a tall lamp in a corner next to a very basic blue chair. A couch rested against a far wall, facing the windows overlooking the street. A coffee table covered in books sat before it.

A small hallway led to a linen closet, a bathroom and two bedrooms. He could peer down the hallway and see that the doors to bedrooms were open. One of the rooms was furnished, the other appeared to be empty.

Harry stepped around the living room, not really realizing how much he was examining everything until he turned and saw her ignoring him. She was in the kitchen, peering over the slow cooker and doing her best to act like she wasn't acutely aware of every one of his movements.

"So this is where you live," Harry said.

"For now," Emily responded.

"For now?" Harry asked.

"Well I can't very well stay here now that a member of the Order of the Phoenix knows where I live," Emily responded.

"Not a member," Harry said. "No minors allowed."

"So you've said," Emily responded skeptically. She paused for a moment and sighed. "Would you like coffee or tea or butterbeer?"

"I'd like a butterbeer," Harry said. Emily nodded and produced two. She opened them with a wandless flick of her wrist and levitated it over to Harry.

"I don't really have much," she said quietly, looking flustered, no, embarrassed, for a moment. "I wasn't expecting to entertain."

"You didn't use your wand for that," Harry said, looking curiously at her as he took his drink from the air. Emily laughed.

"Does that surprise you?" she asked, taking a swig of her own drink and stepping around the counter, leaning back against it.

"Well they say wandless magic is really difficult. We haven't even started trying it yet," he said. She smiled at him, looking rather bemused.

"Harry, I am the most powerful living witch on the planet," she scoffed at him. He blushed and blurted out without really thinking about it.

"Grindelwald kind of destroyed you," he said. Her eyes flashed angrily at him, her jaw set tightly. He regretted the words as soon as he said it. But then, after a moment, her eyes flashed playfully, her dimple popping onto her face.

"Someone lied to me," she said.

"What?" he asked, looking and feeling rather confused.

"You said you were going to destroy my diary presumably after you watched my encounter with my family," Emily winced at bringing it back up, but only paused for the briefest of moments before continuing. "But I didn't duel Grindelwald until a considerable time after that."

"I don't know that I'd call that a duel," Harry blurted out again, blushing. Emily rolled her eyes at him.

"Like you would have done better," Emily snapped at him. Harry looked away from her.

"Well probably not," he said.

"Had I fought him ten years later I think it would have gone quite differently. Anyway, how far did you get, anyway?" she asked.

"You just got a job at Borgin and Burkes," Harry said.

"So just shortly after the end of the war," Emily said.

"Yes," Harry said. "So what was working for Borgin like?"

"I worked more for Burke than Borgin," Emily said.

"Well what was it like," Harry asked.

"A job?" Emily responded. "I spent most of the first year being lectured on how I didn't wear tight enough sweaters or tops that showed enough cleavage."

"Oh," Harry said. "That sounds awful."

"It was," Emily responded. "But from what I gathered it wasn't particularly unusual of the era. Anyway, after they realized that my brain was a more valuable tool than my breasts I did a great deal of acquisition work for them."

"What was involved in that?" Harry asked.

"Mostly I located objects of interest. A lot of ancient artifacts or just things enchanted in interesting and unique ways and convinced their owners to part with them," Emily explained. "It was rather tedious work but it kept a roof over my head."

"And that led to Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked. Emily turned away from him. She took another sip of her butterbeer, frowning down at is as if she wished it were a much stronger beverage.

"Spoilers, Harry," she looked down at the street, her reflection smiling weakly in window.

"Oh come on if I'm just going to watch it anyway," he said.

"I'd rather you watch it than I prattle on about it," she said. "History is better if viewed than lectured on."

"But why even send it to me?" Harry asked. "What do you want me to see?"

"Nothing," Emily said. She turned back to face him.

"Then why send it to me?" he asked again.

"To give you the option to see what happened," she said. "I'd prefer to not discuss it until you've seen everything. If that's alright."

"I guess," Harry said. "Can I ask some questions, though? About the things I've seen so far?"

"If you like," Emily said. "Although I may choose not to answer them."

"Of course," Harry laughed. "I'm used to not getting a straight answer from anyone. Why would you be different?"

"What do you want to know?" she sighed exasperatedly.

"Well," he said. "That aura thing. How do you do it?"

"What aura thing?" she asked.

"When you fought Grindelwald, and the battle before, you were glowing. It was sort of, well, a green and purple and black aura around you. Dumbledore did it too but his was more of a red-orange."

"Oh," Emily said. "That."

"Yeah, so how do you do it?" Harry asked.

"You use a lot of powerful magic in a short time and it happens. I never really inquired into the theory about it. But I think it has something to do with the leftover power needing a place to go. It sort of vents off of you. You can feel it when it happens. It's actually rather intoxicating," Emily explained.

"Intoxicating?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Emily said. "It feels, well, it feels amazing. It's, well, it's very hard to explain without getting graphic. It would be easier if they properly explained dark magic, I suppose."

"Dark magic? I don't think you were doing anything particularly dark at the time," Harry said.

"Oh, really?" Emily asked, there was no emotion in her voice. "Tell that to the men I killed."

"But you didn't use dark magic on them," Harry said, looking alarmed.

"Ah the old argument. Is it the spell or is it the intent?" Emily asked.

"The spell," Harry said simply. After all, there was an entire class about it. Hell, before Umbridge it had been his favorite class.

"Perhaps," Emily said. "Perhaps not."

"Are you going to explain it or just be intentional vague and mysterious?" Harry asked.

"Are you looking for lessons on morality from Lord Voldemort?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just want you to explain it," Harry said.

"Dark magic is additive," Emily said. "I don't know if it's quite as extreme as some of the more prominent Muggle drugs, having never partaken myself. But using certain spells makes you really want to use them more and more. And those are the spells typically considered dark. They change you."

"They don't talk about that," Harry said.

"Well they should but Dumbledore doesn't want to give students an excuse to try using the spells, feeling that if the addictions were discussed more would venture down that path. That and you haven't really had a stable defense teacher. Nor has there been one at Hogwarts for nearly half a century," Emily responded.

"So that's all that makes a spell dark?" Harry asked.

"I don't think it's that simple," Emily said. "But it's a part of it. I don't think it's so easy to just call it a characteristic of the spell, or the affect it has on the user or the target, or the morality behind it. I think it's some combination of all of it. And I think we should focus on people and not on the weaponry they use."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"The tool used doesn't matter. A knife isn't inherently good or evil. It's just a knife. A spell isn't inherently good or evil, it's just a spell. How it is used matters far more than what it is," Emily said.

"So do you consider yourself evil?" he asked. He took a sip of his butterbeer and stared at her.

"Does that matter?" she asked, sipping her own. She finished it and levitated it into the waste basket in the kitchen, again without using a wand.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"How about we talk about that again when you've seen everything," she said.

"Okay," Harry nodded. He paused for a moment before asking, almost sheepishly. "What determines the color?"

"I have no idea. I've not done any research into it," Emily said. "I always felt some affinity for purple and green. Dumbledore has that phoenix quality to him. Maybe there's something more there, maybe not. I never really thought about it."

"I see," Harry said, sounding a little bit disappointed by that answer. "What was it like fighting Grindelwald?"

"It hurt," Emily said. "I honestly prefer to not think about what it felt like to be magically drowned."

"Oh, sorry," Harry said. Emily shrugged.

"It's alright. It's long over," Emily said.

"Did, well, did what they assumed happened to you happen to you?" Harry asked.

"More or less," she said. "The cuts and bruises were healed in days. My lungs took about two weeks. My shoulder recovered by the end of the summer. They thought it would take longer but I've always been resilient. From what I gather we're both rather durable."

"I guess we are. Did you ever want children?" He let the question linger. She turned away from him, again looking out over the city. He paused, feeling immediately like he overstepped his bounds. He tried to defend the bluntness of it all. "I mean I always wanted a family of my own. And we're both orphans. Did you ever want that?"

"No," she said quietly. She lifted her left hand to her lips, covering her mouth with her knuckles for a moment, before running her fingers through her hair.

"Oh," he said quietly before attempting to change the subject. "I still don't understand why you hate Muggles so much."

"I don't hate them. Hatred is irrational and pointless and nothing more than a weakness," she sighed. "But is this what you wanted?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You guilted me in to taking you away from the Order of the Phoenix by saying that you felt suffocated by being cooped inside. No doubt you were playing on how I felt suffocated while being shuffled around during the war. But you're trading one sequestering for another," she turned to face him. "Is that really what you had in mind? Is my company so much better than that of your friends?"

"Well you're prettier," Harry said quietly, looking rather flustered as he spoke.

"Oh you're such a teenage boy," she said, but she laughed as she spoke, her eyes flashing at him, her one dimple showing on her face. "But I don't know that your friend Hermione would like to hear you say that."

"Ew," Harry said. "I'm not at all interested in Hermione like that. She's just a friend."

"Oh?" Emily smirked. "Ron then?"

"God no!" Harry almost yelled.

"That sounded defensive. Is there something you're hiding, Harry dear?" Emily asked. Harry blushed when she called him dear.

"No," he said. "There isn't." His voice was stern enough that she figured it would be best if, for now, she ceased teasing him about that. So it was her turn to change the subject. She decided to pull it back to her previous question.

"Well, anyway, what did you expect to happen from your magical vacation away from the Order," she asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I've never really had a vacation before."

"Never?" she asked.

"No," he said. "The Dursley's would leave me with Mrs. Figg if they went somewhere. And I mean I've stayed with the Weasley's but I don't think that's really a vacation. I mean I've never really gone somewhere just go to."

"You should," Emily said.

"I'm not sure I really have control over that. What about you, where was your first big vacation?" he was mostly just trying to avoid talking about his life pre Hogwarts when he asked.

"Nagasaki," Emily said. She frowned then. "Although I suppose that was more work related. Maybe the Azores?"

"Working in Nagasaki? What were you doing there?" he asked.

"Spoilers," she smiled at him. He opened his mouth to say something but in that moment his stomach rumbled rather loudly.

"Sorry," he said quickly.

"Oh so you are hungry," she teased. He nodded.

"Yes, and tired too and it's not even remotely late. It just sort of hit me," Harry said.

"Well my chicken should be ready if you'd like some. Or if you'd prefer food that wasn't made by the hands of Lord Voldemort then I can order out," she said. Harry blushed and looked away.

"The chicken smells phenomenal," he said quietly before adding. "Unless it's like that fish you made after the first battle." He couldn't help but smirk as her eyes flashed angrily at him."

"I would like to see you do better with some disgustingly pathetic fish and the random ingredients you could find in the damn woods around a warzone," Emily snapped. She stepped into the kitchen and opened started waving her hands around. Cabinets opened as she did, plates and silverware flying around.

"Sorry I couldn't resist," he laughed.

Moments later two places were set at the bar in the kitchen and she'd turned her attention to the slow cooker. Harry moved to the counter mostly because he didn't really know what else to do. He watched as she prepared two plates and then turned to set them down on the counter.

Harry looked down at the plate that she'd put before him. It contained four large slices of chicken with an assortment of large chunks of potatoes and carrots mixed in. Emily stepped to the refrigerator and took out two more butterbeers. She put another in front of him before sliding onto the stool next to him.

"It probably needs salt," she said. Harry speared a bit of chicken with his fork and ate it quickly, surprised at how hungry he was.

"I don't think so," he said.

"Well you're wrong," she said, salting her plate. They ate in silence. Harry finished his plate almost instantly. Emily laughed when she noticed and summoned the slow cooker over to them to serve him another helping.

Emily stood when she was finished and moved to take her dishes over toward the sink but Harry stood a moment later.

"I'll do that," he said. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah it's fine. Least I can do," he said. She watched as he slipped into the kitchen and started rinsing the plates, scrubbing away. She leaned against the wall as she watched. She said nothing as she watched. It wasn't until he was nearly finished cleaning the slow cooker that she spoke up.

"You could have used magic, you know," she said, eyeing him.

"I'm not seventeen," he replied, looking up at her.

"Because I'm going to stop you from casting a spell," Emily said.

"Can't the ministry track that?" he asked.

"No," she said.

"But this summer they knew when I'd used a patronus," Harry said.

"They can tell where magic is used in an area. They cannot tell specifically who used it. So they simply knew that the only wizard residing in that area was underage. They know magic comes from this area already they can't prove specifically who cast anything," Emily said.

"That explains Dobby," Harry said quietly. Emily just raised an eyebrow at him figuring it was best if she didn't inquire into who or what a Dobby was.

"The same thing holds true internationally," Emily said.

"I guess that also explains how they didn't track you in Great Hangleton," Harry said.

"Well that and the ministry was a little preoccupied with the war at the time and not really monitoring things like that," Emily responded.

"Well I suppose a World War would be a bit of a distraction," Harry said.

"Quite," Emily responded. Harry finished with the slow cooker and turned back to look at her.

"Well are you going to let me stay?" he asked, looking nervous as he looked back at her.

"Do I really have a choice?" Emily laughed.

"Well I mean it is your home," he said. Emily looked around the apartment as he said home, pressing her lips together.

"Well do you honestly think that I'm going to turn you out onto the street?" Emily asked.

"I could get back to where I'm supposed to be staying without much effort I think," Harry said. "And I wouldn't want to impose."

"So you're happy with a few hour reprieve and dinner?" Emily asked. Harry frowned at her and shook his head before admitting quietly.

"I actually really don't want to go back there and get lectured more," Harry said. Emily nodded.

"Oh yes those damned lectures," Emily said sarcastically.

"They are horrible," Harry said.

"Do you even have a change of clothing?" Emily asked.

"No," Harry said quietly.

"I didn't think so," Emily said. "Come on."

"What?" he asked as she started to walk down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

"Well I hope you don't think I'm going to let you sleep with me," she teased.

"I uhm ah," Harry started. Emily stepped into the unfurnished bedroom and slipped her and into her hand and waved it around the empty room. Harry watched her as she conjured a bed and a dresser and night stand with a lamp. It took her just moments.

"More or less blankets?" Emily asked, gesturing to the bed. Harry looked at it as the covers pulled themselves back. It was just a sheet, blankets, and a comforter.

"Uhm I usually have one more," Harry said. Emily nodded and created another blanket, folding it neatly at the end of the bed.

"There you go," Emily said.

"Doesn't conjured magic usually vanish after a while?" Harry asked.

"As long as you're up before noon you should be fine," Emily said. "I can come up with a more permanent solution later."

"I don't usually sleep late," Harry said. "But I'll keep that in mind. Are you telling me to go to bed it's not remotely late."

"I'm not telling you to do anything," Emily said. "You're perfectly capable of making your own decisions."

"That I am," Harry said. Emily slipped from the room and into her bedroom. Harry stood in the doorway, unsure if he should follow her or not. Her room was immaculate. The bed was covered in black and red blankets. A glass of a water and a trio of framed photos sat on the bedside table but it felt wrong to look at them too closely.

He watched her walk up to a dresser and open the top drawer. She tossed a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt with a union jack and a band name on it onto the bed. Something felt oddly familiar about the shirt.

"There we go," Emily said.

"I don't think I'll fit into those," Harry said.

"Are you calling me fat?" Emily crossed her arms and glared at him.

"What? No," Harry said looking rather alarmed.

"I'm just teasing you," she said. She transfigured the shirt and the shorts into a pair of black athletic shorts and a plain black t-shirt. Harry just stared at her for a moment until it became uncomfortable.

"What?" she asked.

"I do not understand you at all," Harry said quietly.

"I don't think I'm that confusing," she said, levitating the clothing into his arms and tossing her wand onto the nightstand.

"You're supposed to be a Dark Lord not, well, whatever this is," Harry said.

"Would you prefer if I put on a black dress and start using the Cruciatus curse on you repeatedly? Because I wouldn't be opposed to that," Emily said.

"I would prefer that you didn't," Harry said.

"Oh? What's wrong with my black dresses?" Emily snapped.

"See!" Harry couldn't help but laugh though. "That! That is what's confusing!"

"I spend hours, hours! Trying to look good for you! And this is the thanks I get!" Emily shouted, but she couldn't suppress the smile or the laughter.

"Your dresses are fine. But you should really try lighter colors, like a sky blue or a pink," Harry laughed.

"Ew," Emily said. "But get out of here so I can change." Harry just nodded and stepped out of the doorway and into the other bedroom to change himself. He did so quickly and stepped back toward the living area, noticing that she'd closed the door while she changed. He walked toward the couch, sitting on the end of it and looking around, unsure really what he should do.

He knew he should be afraid. He knew he shouldn't be where he was. But he couldn't bring himself to be afraid. There seemed to be no real point to fear at that point. Somehow, he just didn't think that any harm would come to him from her.

Maybe in the future they'd be at odds. He still didn't really understand what she stood for. And her answers hadn't really been satisfactory. He wondered if her diary would show him the first wizarding war. Would it go all the way up to her cursing him? He hoped not.

He really didn't want to see her killing his parents. In his mind, he couldn't see her killing his parents. He couldn't see her killing anyone, really. She was bright, she smiled often, she was quick and playful. He didn't understand how that could be the Greatest Dark Witch of all time.

She was evil. He knew she was evil. He knew she was a murderer. He knew she'd caused more death and destruction and chaos in England than he would ever be able to fully fathom. But at the same time, he still couldn't see her doing that. In his mind, she simply changed into a sort of shadow cloaked figure. He couldn't picture Emily Riddle doing anything evil. Yet, his brain was screaming at him that he was being foolish.

"You okay there?" she asked from the hallway. Harry looked up to see her standing there in a black and red kimono with a cherry blossom motif speckling across it, a sash tied around her waist. It fell to her knees and she wore dark slippers.

"Fine," he said. "Sorry, just a bit lost in thought."

"Not a good place to get lost," Emily said carefully. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. If she noticed, she didn't blush or comment.

"No it can be hard to find yourself again, can't it," Harry said.

"Very," Emily responded. And they were silent for a moment. Harry realized he was staring so he looked away mostly just to look around the room. His eyes rested on the lacquered wood case in the corner.

"Play for me?" he asked, echoes ringing through his head as he spoke.

"You don't want to hear that," Emily said.

"Yes I do," he responded.

"Okay," she said, her voice little more than a whisper as she stepped across the living room. She knelt down to open the case and gingerly pulled a polished violin from it. She arranged some music on the stand and then looked at him.

"Any requests?" she asked.

"I don't really know anything about music. Something seasonal?" Harry asked.

"Well I've been working on Vivaldi's Winter," Emily said.

"That then," Harry said.

"I'm not really good enough to-" Emily started.

"Shut up and play," Harry said. Emily glared at him but after a moment lifted the violin and the bow and started playing. It was faster than Harry would have thought. She fumbled a bit here or there, normally just making a face and trying again, sometimes cursing under her breath. But she kept playing, and he listened. The song, somehow, reminded him must of winter. It started hectic and it slowed, reminding him of a warm home, a hearth by a fire, and fighting the chill of winter.

She played and played, eventually she slowed into a more recognizable sonata. Something that Harry knew he'd heard played a thousand of times before but he couldn't place a name on it. She closed her eyes as she played it, obviously relishing the soft dour notes. It reminded him of the moon.

He closed his eyes as she continued to play, the apartment being filled with nothing but the soft noise of the stringed instrument. He wasn't sure just when he'd gotten so tired, but it probably had to do with staying up too late and burying himself in her memories. Or the general stress from the last few days. He knew sleep would come as he listened to the notes and he didn't try to fight it.

Emily played on after he dozed off. She played for about a half hour longer before lowering the violin and tucking it lovingly back into the case. She sighed at him and stepped up to where he'd fallen asleep on the couch.

He was curled onto his side, one hand over his face. She could see the scars etched onto the face of his hand. The words 'I must not tell lies' clearly visible against his pale skin. Her teeth clenched together and she forced the anger down. She forced herself to think of anything but harming what had injured something that was so very much hers.

She brushed her thumb gently over the scars before turning down the hall and fetching her wand. She walked back to the living room and floated Harry carefully to the new bedroom, settling him into the bed as gently as she could with magic and pulling the covers up to his chin. He didn't stir at all as she moved him.

Emily stared down at him for a moment. She wondered just how someone could have had a worse childhood than her. But she knew he had. To never even have had a vacation of any sort, she struggled to imagine that his mother's sister could be so cruel to her family. How could he know so little of the basic joys of life?

She leaned toward him in the bed, intending to press her lips to his forehead. But she paused inches from him and shook her head. He was not someone who needed to be wished good night from her, or tucked into bed to be safe by her. She turned sharply on her heel and stepped back into her room.

Emily sat on her bed for hours. Her mind racing in too many directions at once. She still expected members of the Order of the Phoenix to show up and try to take her out. She still figured Harry must be some sort of trap. She couldn't possibly sleep knowing that. She brooded in the center of her bed until the first rays of morning sunshine spilled into the room.

She took off the kimono quickly, wondering what she'd even been thinking by putting it on. Mad at herself for even considering, much less letting, another man see her in it. That wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't supposed to ever happen again.

Still, she hung it carefully in her closet, before pulling on a long lacey black dress and matching boots. An idea came to her. It wasn't much. It was insane. It was something she shouldn't do. But it would be better than hiding away in London. He might appreciate it. It might scare him. There was only one real way to find out.

She stalked down the hallway and out of the apartment before apparating away, acutely aware the only reason she didn't do it from the apartment was so she didn't wake Harry.

Lord Voldemort apparated straight into the dining room of Malfoy Manor. Lucius and Narcissa nearly jumped out of their seats. Draco wasn't at the table with them.

"My Lord," Lucius said quickly.

"I need to utilize your townhouse on Oak street," Lord Voldemort snapped.

"Certainly my lord," Narcissa said. "We can have an elf have it ready by tomorrow evening."

"I need it sooner than that," Voldemort said. "I don't care if an elf has checked the furnishing. I'll manage without."

"Are you certain my Lord?" Narcissa asked.

"That I'm perfectly capable of surviving without a house elf? Yes I'm quite certain of that," Voldemort spat.

"Certainly, My Lord," Narcissa said, bowing her head slightly.

"The key phrase for the door is Jus Sanguinis," Lucius said.

"And the protections?" Voldemort asked.

"Minimal," Lucius said. "The neighborhood is too muggle to require more than a couple of anti-muggle hexes."

"We have a portkey prepared in case we wished to vacation there. Would you like me to fetch it?" Narcissa asked, standing from the table.

"Please," Voldemort said dryly. Narcissa nodded and stalked quickly from the dining room.

"I will be gone for two weeks or so. Hopefully I do not need to add additional defenses to the house. But if I do, I will inform you." Voldemort said. "Do not expect communications in that time."

"Of course, My Lord I will be able to have the plans you requested by the first," Lucius said.

"Good," Voldemort said. "I will collect them upon my return."

"Very good," Lucius said as his wife reentered the room. She handed a long knitting needle to Voldemort.

"It will activate by casting Lumos with it in hand," Narcissa said. Voldemort nodded.

"Well done," she said. She turned to leave, but Narcissa spoke again.

"My Lord?" she asked quietly. Voldemort turned, her eyes flashing dangerously, expecting the question to be about just what she could possibly need their townhouse in a foreign country for.

"Cissy," Lucius said carefully. Voldemort looked at Mrs. Malfoy as coldly as she could, doing nothing past waiting as acknowledgment of the question.

"We were thinking of surprising Draco and his girlfriend with Christmas in Paris. If you are to be gone, would there be a problem with us spending the holiday on the continent?" Narcissa asked carefully. Voldemort wanted to tell them it would be a terrible problem and that they had no business traveling away from England when she could find use of them there.

But a man's voice telling her the holidays were for family and friends rang through her head. And, more annoyingly, she knew that voice was correct.

"That will not be a problem as long as Lucius ensured I have those plans upon my return," Voldemort said.

"You will My Lord," Lucius said confidently. Voldemort nodded at him.

"Then enjoy the Movable Feast," she said. The stared blankly at her and, rather than bothering to explain, she simply apparated straight through their anti-apparation charms and back to her outside her apartment.

Emily Riddle stalked back up the stairs and into her bedroom. She placed the knitting needle on the bed and summoned a small suitcase she'd charmed to be much larger than it appeared to her. But she didn't need much space. She packed simply by pointing at things in her closet and dresser drawers and floating them into the suitcase, closing it with a flick of her wand.

She shrunk the suitcase and grabbed it and the needle before sneaking, silently, into the spare bedroom. She stepped up to the side of the bed and sat Harry up. He stirred but didn't wake. She tucked the needle between his fingers, gripping it herself, before wrapping her free arm around him for balance and muttering the incantation.

The world spun around them. She held Harry tightly to her, doing her best to stabilize him and control the portkey at the same time. The world darkened around her as they flew west, the sun seeming to set on the eastern sky as time shifted backward. It took fifteen minutes of focus before they were standing at the top of a short stone staircase leading into a three story home.

The street was surprisingly active despite it being the early morning hours of Christmas Eve. But none of the muggles walking through the snow took any notice of her, the asleep teenage boy leaning against her, or even the house.

"Jus Sanguinis," she said and the door clicked. She stepped inside, looking at the ornate furnishings, the same gilded gold taste from the manor. She made a face at it but rather than worry about the décor she levitated Harry up the stairs until she found one of the bedrooms and tucked him back into bed.

Emily wondered if he'd be annoyed that she'd pulled him four thousand miles without asking for any type of permission. But as long as she could get him back to Hogwarts in time for term. Here, at least, they should be able to go outside.

She stepped back down the stairs and looked around the building. The Malfoy's kept it more modern than their manor house. She wondered if they paid someone to update it. She knew there was money to be made in muggle real estate and wondered if that was Lucius's intent. Or if he just liked having places in cities all over the world as a status symbol.

Eventually, though, she decided that thinking about Lucius Malfoy was a total waste of time. At least he'd been more successful than Avery at getting the plans she'd wanted. Well, he'd been able to get her a date, anyway. She'd see for sure later if that date was accurate. But Lucius wasn't one to promise something and then fail to deliver on that promise. He knew the consequences too well.

She contented herself with watching the snow fall from the front window sill, sitting with her head pressed close to the glass and staring down the street wondering if Harry would be upset with her when he woke up in a strange bed in a strange city. Of course he'd probably wake up before sunrise, or close to, because of the time zone differences.

But there was no sound from upstairs until the sun started to rise over the lake. She transfigured her black dress and walked into the kitchen, wondering just what she'd tell him when he came down stairs.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Spicee on the beta work once again.

Chapter 15

It took Harry a few moments to remember just what was wrong when he finally woke the next morning. He'd had strange dreams of flying through the air, spinning like he was traveling to the World Cup again and they were still disorienting him when he opened his eyes. At first he didn't even register that the room he woke in wasn't the room he went to sleep in. But when he did, he sat up like a shot and looked around.

He stepped out of the bed and moved to the window where the dim light of an overcast morning was spilling in. When he gazed out he saw a very unfamiliar city. There was a dusting of snow dirty snow on the ground. It had been matted down in neat lines where people and vehicles passed. Harry looked up and down the street for anything familiar before looking back around the room.

Nothing about it looked familiar. But he could tell immediately it was of much higher quality than anything he'd ever stayed in before. The blankets were rather amazingly soft and the furniture looked much nicer than the room he'd just left. He wondered for a moment if he was a prisoner, cursing his stupidity for believing that Emily would keep her word. He walked to the closed door and put his hand on the handle. He didn't even realize that he was holding his breath until he let it out when the handle opened with a satisfying click.

He stepped out into a long, dark, hallway. It was decorated with rather basic art, unassuming landscapes and pictures of nature. He paused and looked at them for a moment before continuing toward the stairs. He gazed up and down when he got to the staircase. He figured he'd have better luck on the first floor than the third, though, so he stepped down.

The first floor was so elaborately decorated he suspected Aunt Petunia would have fainted just walking in. The stairs led down into a main foyer, random gold knickknacks seemed to be everywhere. Harry appraised a candlestick for a moment, knowing full well that dung would have stolen it in a heartbeat if Fletcher was in the building.

He stepped through a large living room, a grand piano managed to fit in the corner without seeming to take up any room. The furniture in the room was all very expensive looking, the type of furniture that made Harry wonder if people were even supposed to actually sit on it. Harry traced his hand over the back of the couch as he wandered around the lower level.

Eventually he stepped through the dining room, where a table large enough to seat twelve comfortable filled the majority of the room, and into the kitchen. It was pristinely clean and very white. A small table for four sat tucked in the corner, obviously for when the full dining room would be a bit excessive.

"Good morning," Emily said as soon as he entered the room. She was standing at the stove, her hair pulled back in a loose braid to keep it out of her face. She was adding vegetables into a skillet.

"What did you do?" he asked. He sat at the table, mostly because it was only place where he could sit. He looked up at her. She finished adding ingredients into the skillet and turned to look at him. She was wearing bright tennis shoes, blue jeans, and a sky blue blouse. Harry almost did a double take when he looked at her.

"I took you on vacation," she said. He just stared at her for a moment.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might want a say in that?" he asked quietly.

"Of course it did. That didn't mean I was going to ask, though," Emily responded.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Chicago Illinois," she said. "We're about a couple of blocks away from Michigan Avenue, if you know what that is."

"No idea," Harry said.

"It's the main shopping and tourist street, more or less," Emily said.

"Do you know a lot about Chicago?" he asked.

"Very little," Emily smiled. "I was here once a long time ago for an accountant convention."

"A what?" Harry asked, sure he'd heard that wrong.

"I'm sure it was every bit as boring as it sounded. I mostly went to the museums and spent money," Emily said.

"When was this?" Harry asked.

"A while ago," Emily said, turning her attention back to the skillet.

"So why here then?" he asked.

"You said you'd never been on a vacation. I knew I could get the building from a minion. So I figured it would be a better spot to hide than London. At the very least there hasn't been any 'Harry Potter has Disappeared' articles yet. But it is still a bit early," Emily said.

"Is there a magical community here?" she asked.

"Yes, but I think we'll be able to avoid prying eyes unless you'd like to go flaunt around with other wizards," Emily said.

"Probably not," Harry said. "I hadn't really thought about it. How did you even get us here?"

"Portkey," Emily said. "I'm a bit shocked you slept through it."

"I don't think I did," Harry said. "At least I remember spinning and seeming like I was flying. I guess I just didn't totally wake up."

"And Mr. Early Riser got another six hours of sleep without realizing it," Emily said. "If we were back in London it would be almost two o'clock by now."

"Well I must have been tired," Harry said sheepishly.

"Well you've had an interesting couple of days," Emily said.

"I guess," Harry said. "So did you have any plans then?"

"Well I was going to use Narcissa Malfoy's line of credit at Bloomingdales to get you some new clothing mostly because I really don't feel like transfiguring clothing for you on a daily basis," Emily said. Harry blushed and looked away from her.

"You could just teach me how to do it," Harry said.

"I could," Emily said. "And if you have your heart set on learning some fashion charms I will certainly oblige you. However, I am instead going to force you to go shopping so I don't have to lecture you about the specific dynamics of fabric and how to properly replicate it," Emily said.

"I don't want you to buy me things," Harry responded, sternly.

"I'm not going to buy you anything. Narcissa Malfoy is going to buy you things," Emily responded.

"That makes it worse," Harry said. He then blinked as if something clicked in his head. "Wait this is the Malfoy's house?"

"Yes," Emily said. "Lucius has houses in most of the major cities in the world."

"And they know you're here with me?" Harry asked.

"They know I'm here. But they do not know you are here. And if they try to find out if I'm here with someone I will kill them," Emily said. Harry blinked at her and then frowned.

"Please tell me I'm not sleeping in Draco Malfoy's bed," Harry said.

"No I put you in a guest room. The family rooms are on the third floor," she responded.

"Well I guess that makes it better. What are you making?" he asked.

"A chorizo and jalapeno omelet with some green peppers and onions," Emily said before wrinkling her nose. "I've never cooked with chorizo before. I'm not sure I like the way it smells."

"I think it smells great," Harry said.

"Well then you can have it and I'll just fry myself an egg," Emily said.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Emily said. She flipped the skillet onto a plate and walked it over to him. She set the plate down in front of him and then took a minute to find some silverware and levitated that to him. After that she poured him a glass of orange juice and floated it over to the table as well.

"Thanks," he said quietly. He eyed it carefully for a moment before starting to eat. "It's good."

"I'm glad you think so," she said quietly. She broke a couple of eggs back into the frying pan and started to scramble them rather than fry them. It didn't take her more than a couple of minutes to join him with her own plate of eggs.

"Are you really going to make me go shopping?" Harry asked.

"Sure am," Emily responded.

"Oh," Harry frowned.

"I won't make you buy much," she said. "Just enough to get you through two weeks comfortably. Transfigured clothing never quite feels right anyway. The real thing works out better."

"I noticed that in the hospital once. Why is that?" he asked. She knew he was referring to the bit on clothing.

"I don't know," Emily responded. "Probably something to do with the magic in the item meshing with the magic in your body. It always just feels slightly off. That or maybe it's entirely placebo and we're all just too modest to realize that our clothing might vanish if we twitch wrong magically. Either way it actually takes a wizard of above average power to notice. So considered yourself special that you ever noticed."

"As amusing as that thought is, I think your first one is more likely," Harry said.

"And you're probably right," Emily responded as she started on her eggs. Harry was almost done with his omelet by that point and he let her eat in silence.

He cleaned up once she was finished. He watched her slump into her chair as he did, her eyes drooping. He wondered exactly when the last time she slept was. He figured it was best to not disturb her.

Harry didn't really know what to do after that, so he wandered back upstairs. He spent a good hour just exploring the house, ducking into every room, examining each and every one of the Malfoy's belongings. He even went so far as to explore the third floor and the familial bedrooms up there. There was very little personal about the rooms. They felt distinctly not lived in. Harry wondered just how often the Malfoy's ever used it. Or worse, if they even did.

Eventually he found his way back down to the room he'd slept in. He found the nearest bathroom and cleaned himself up before changing into the clothing he'd worn the day before. He frowned in the mirror and sniffed himself, but he didn't think he smelled too out of the ordinary. He noticed that Emily had grabbed his bag before taking them to Chicago. He slung it over his shoulder and walked back down to the kitchen.

Emily was asleep at the table leaning against the window. He stared at her and bit his lip. She was sitting at a table, feet from him, and she was unconscious. His hand slipped to his wand. He took it slowly out of his pocket and leveled it on her.

She didn't move. He swallowed hard. He knew what the right thing to do was. He knew exactly what he should do. It was two words. Two simple words. All he had to say was two damned words.

But they wouldn't come. He fought and fought and fought against his own silence. He opened his mouth. He mouthed the words. He said them in his head and jabbed his wand at her. But nothing happened.

He could do so much good, he knew. It was the right thing to do, he knew. But it just wouldn't happen. He wondered just how many lives he could save if he could only say two words. He wondered how much better he could make the world with two simple words. And despite all of that, they wouldn't come.

Eventually, he lowered his wand. He felt utterly defeated but he knew she'd done nothing to make him feel that way. So instead he ran over excuses in his head without bothering to think of the obvious solution. It was easy to tell himself that there was no way for him to get back from Chicago. Or that the way to win wasn't to kill a sleeping enemy who'd offered you hospitality. He tried to not focus on the stupidity of that.

Instead he took his potions homework out of bag and stared on that. It didn't take him particularly long to finish it. Emily snored softly from across the table but he mostly ignored her, thinking it would be rude to wake her. Once he'd finished the assignment he tucked it back into the bag. The only other book in his bag was her diary. He took it out and stared at it without opening it.

The snow falling outside distracted him for a moment. He wondered if he could wander around the city alone. He was sure he could. But he had no idea where he was. Granted he suspected he could find an address number on the side of the building and then just follow the street to the nearest sign.

But he also had no American money on him. So he couldn't grab a cab back or anything like that. But he could always keep himself close to the house, he thought. It wouldn't be much to just wander a few blocks in one direction and then turn around. He could certainly keep track of that readily enough.

The thought that gave him far more pause, though, was that he had no idea what was looking for him. If anything was looking for him. For some reason, he just didn't think he'd be able to accomplish much against a few trained wizards if they found him and cornered him. He liked his odds out with Emily Riddle far more than himself.

So instead of venturing out, he opened the diary and peered into it.

The images moved quickly around him, much like they had during her school years. At first they were depressing. Far more depressing than he really cared to admit. He watched her spend far too long getting ready for her first day of work only to have Burke tell her that her outfit made her look dumpy.

That was the first time that day that her smile faltered. But it wouldn't be the last. They snapped at her after every moment she spent with a customer, regardless of if they bought anything or not. They also snapped at her when she didn't know exactly what every artifact in the shop did.

But she didn't falter in her determination. She made flashcards, she reviewed the items, and in just a couple of weeks she was completely fluent in every artifact they had. The only real tiff they'd had after that was when she was caught reading the newspaper, an article with a gigantic photo of a mushroom cloud on the front page, when she should have been working.

Eventually, though, Burke seemed to soften on her to the point where she would only comment on how she wasn't using her body enough to attract customers. She completely ignored him.

Burke did start working with her at identifying enchantments on items, discovering how to utilize the enchantments on items, and the types of items they were looking to acquire for the shop. They even let her negotiate here or there. Once or twice Burke brought him with her to try to buy an artifact from someone.

On both occasions Harry noticed that the target was a young man, and by the time they'd left there were all sorts of promises for Emily to meet up with him later. She never followed through on those promises and Burke never commented one way or the other about them specifically.

Sometimes her class mates ducked into the shop. They'd chat with her here or there, talk about their new careers or, rather alarmingly Harry thought, all of their impending nuptials. They'd seem friendly but he'd overhear them talking of how they couldn't believe she was nothing more than a lowly shop clerk. And that it was just wasted potential.

He'd watch her as she lived her life. She made dinners for one in a tiny studio not far from Diagon Alley. He listened in on her conversations with her land lord about magically enhancing the apartment. He refused to keep such enchantments up without greatly increasing the rent, and staunchly argued against her doing it, claiming that she may negatively affect other tenants. He was rather surprised when she gave up on that argument. She supplemented her wardrobe with magic. She had next to no furniture and very little in the way of decoration or possessions.

Every paycheck she'd take the time to buy one book during her break from the shop. She'd spend most of her free time reading. She'd practice spells in the books as well. Nothing ever took her more than three attempts to pull off. Most spells she got on the first try.

But after a few moths she stopped reading and mostly just sat around at night, seeming to wait until sleep took her. She seemed to be gloomier than normal. And it only got worse and worse. At least whenever she was at home.

But she was always personable when away from her apartment home. She grew more and more assertive with Burke until one day she postulated a theory to him.

Japan, she said, they should go to Japan. Magical communities there had been devastated by the Muggle air raids and the atomic bombs. They were begging for support from other areas but the International Confederation of Wizards was dragging its feet with any type of aide.

But, she told Burke, they could go. They could offer aid. And they could salvage the enchanted items that lived through the explosions, the fire bombings, the raids. And, she argued, they would be able to scavenge for most of it. They wouldn't even have to pay. Burke was skeptical at first, but Borgin liked the idea. Eventually, as winter shifted to spring, they started to plan.

He saw her write more letters she never sent. Until finally, she wandered down to a veterans gathering and made some inquires. Eventually, after much cajoling, flirting, and arguing, she managed to get an address.

He saw her write another letter and mail it. The letter really just detailed what she'd been doing lately, in vague terms. He watched as she waited for a response, checking her little bronze mail box every day on the way home from work.

He watched as Borgin and Bruke debated just who should go to Japan, just what they should try to target, and just what they should try to do. He watched Emily in her free time start to study Eastern Magical objects and magic. And eventually, he watched as Burke agreed to take her and let Borgin stay and run the shop.

He watched as the response to her letter came. She smiled down at it. It was just a few short lines of text and then a date, just a few days before she was going to leave for Japan, and he saw her walk, a couple of minutes late, to where they were supposed to meet.

Harry saw Lieutenant Price sitting at an outdoor café. He smiled at her as she approached, wearing a dark business suit and tie, his cane leaning against the table. She moved quickly to the table when a voice spoke beside him.

"Time to come back to the land of living, Harry," Emily said. She appeared next to him exactly how she'd looked in the Malfoy's kitchen.

"You can come into this too?" Harry asked.

"Of course," she laughed. "It's not single person use."

"I never thought of that," Harry said.

"Anyway," Emily responded. Her eyes flashed over to the table at the café and Harry saw she bit her lip and swallowed hard. "It's late enough that we can head out on the town and have some fun."

"Okay," Harry said. He watched her for a moment. She was staring at the table and not looking at him. He closed his eyes and felt himself lift out of the diary, leaving her to stare at Lieutenant Price for a moment longer.

Almost as soon as he reoriented himself from the memories he noticed she was as well. She stood from the table, gathering up the dishes, and moved them over to the counter. She spoke before he could ask any question about what he'd seen.

"So shopping first?" she asked.

"Do we have to?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Emily responded. "Otherwise you're going to start smelling and I'm not going to clean your clothing and I may decide that it's just easier to curse you."

"Is there an anti-dirty clothing curse?" Harry asked.

"I was thinking more the Cruciatus Curse," Emily said dryly.

"I'm sure you were," Harry responded.

"So shopping or cursing?" Emily said.

"Fine, shopping," Harry said.

And to his surprise it wasn't horrible. They walked a couple of blocks through the light snow to a nearby Bloomingdales. Emily directed him to the young men's department and mostly left him alone.

She found him about an hour later, wandering aimlessly through the aisles. He hadn't picked anything out and looked mostly lost. She walked up behind him and frowned.

"Nothing to your taste?" she asked.

"I don't know," Harry said, looking around and seeming totally lost. Emily nodded and took his hand, pulling him over toward the jeans. She turned to him and put her hands around his waist, looking down at him before shuffling through the sizes.

"Go try these on," she said, offering him multiple pairs of jeans. After a few minutes of leaving him alone in the fitting room she wandered over toward it and threw a bunch of shirts, both dressier shirts and regular t-shirts, over the door. She waited until they disappeared and went to find more items.

Eventually, after a couple of hours, they'd settled on a few pairs of jeans and a handful of shirts. She made him buy new undershirts and then told him to go pick out underwear and socks. He blushed but did so.

Once they were done she made him carry the bags back to the house and put them away in his room. After that they ventured out on the town again. They wandered up the street over toward Michigan Avenue.

They walked up and down Michigan Avenue, looking in shops and occasionally stopping in to look around. She would chat amiably with employees in every store, examine items and otherwise just seem totally enraptured by everything she saw. It was, Harry had to admit, annoyingly infectious.

He was actually rather annoyed when she would talk with male employees. They catered on her every word, always commenting on her accent as she spoke. She seemed to relish in the attention. Eventually they found a spot for lunch. She chatted with an older couple at the next table, introducing him as her younger brother. He sat rather sullenly not really knowing how to act.

After lunch they wandered through the city again. They walked up toward the river and stood for a couple of minutes, mostly getting in the way, while they looked out at Lake Michigan. Harry spent a moment admiring Tribune tower before they simply continued to wander, looking at the Christmas lights as they moved through the city.

They wandered north on Clark Street, back toward where they were staying. They moved rather slowly through the streets, doing their best to stay out of the way of others as they did.

Eventually they found another restaurant and stopped in for dinner. Emily waved her hand at the waiter and he came back with a bottle of red wine that he poured for them and some menus. She waved him off after that.

They talked through dinner, mostly about the things they'd seen in the city of Chicago. Harry found himself lost in the conversation without even really knowing what the conversation was about. Before he really even realized it was happening they were sharing a bananas foster.

She waved the waiter away as soon as he showed up with the check and they left moments later with Harry wondering if they'd even paid. He was pretty sure they hadn't, but he figured it was probably best not to ask.

They went back to the house after that. Emily lit the fire in the fireplace with a flick of her wand and smiled over at him.

"Wine?" she asked, gazing over her shoulder at him.

"I don't know that I should drink more," Harry said.

"You should always get drunk on Christmas Eve," Emily said. "It's half the point."

"I just can't picture you drunk," Harry said, blinking at her.

"Well I'm not going to drink alone so you unless you're joining in you won't," Emily snapped.

"Is there even any booze here?" Harry asked.

"Are you kidding?" Emily laughed. "The entire basement is a wine cellar. The Malfoy's are total drunks."

"Well I guess I won't say no then," he said.

"Good sport," Emily smiled. She waved her hand at the door and it opened. A moment later two glasses and a bottle of wine flew from different directions. She put the glasses and the bottle on a coffee table in the middle of the room and poured two glasses before offering one to him. He took it and sipped it.

"So how's day one of vacation?" she asked him as she sat on the corner of a couch. He marveled at how she managed to fit precisely onto one cushion, curling her legs underneath her and leaning against the pillow.

"It was, well, fun," Harry said. He sat in a chair across from the couch.

"Good," Emily smiled. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"Thanks," Harry said, sipping the wine some more. Emily turned her attention to fire and simply gazed at it.

"You're welcome," Emily said.

"I forgot it was Christmas Eve," Harry said quietly.

"Well it has been a hectic few days for you," Emily responded.

"I wonder what they're doing back in London," Harry said quietly, taking another sip of wine.

"Panicking," Emily said. "You are rather important to them, you know."

"Not important enough for Dumbledore to notice me," he said quietly, staring down at his wine.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He wouldn't look at me at the trial. He avoided me at headquarters and he avoided me in his office after you possessed me," he said. He looked away from her, staring down at the wine in his hand.

"Hold on," Emily said. "I possessed you?"

"Didn't you?" Harry asked.

"No," she laughed. "When would I have possessed you?"

"When you made me be the snake and attack Mr. Weasley," Harry said. "I couldn't really fathom why you would make me do that. I mean he's the closest thing to a dad I have and you tried to use me to kill him."

"Oh Harry," Emily frowned.

"I just don't get it. Why would you do that?" his voice was soft, but there was an underlined anger there. "And then all of this? What is all of this?"

"Harry stop," she said. He blinked at her and looked down at his wine, pausing to take a sip of it.

"Sorry," he said meekly. "I know I kind of made you take me. I don't really know what I should do."

"Harry, I did not possess you," Emily said.

"Could you even do that?" he asked, trusting her word as she sipped her wine. She took a moment to refill both of their glasses before answering.

"Well of course I could," she said.

"Oh," he said looking rather frightened.

"Do I have to remind you I am a supremely talented witch? Asking me if I can do something with magic typically only has one answer." Emily said.

"Well, why?" Harry asked. And she knew he wasn't referring to anything involved in her magical ability.

"Harry I don't know what you want me to say," she asked.

"Tell me something," Harry said. "Anything."

"Dumbledore is likely ignoring you because he thinks we share a magical connection stemming from my failure to kill you as a baby. I would assume that he thinks I will try to use you to get at him," Emily said. Harry didn't respond. He turned his attention back to his wine and took a sip.

"Do we?" he asked after a minute.

"I don't know," Emily lied. "Albus Dumbledore tends to be correct in his hunches involving magic."

"And he thinks you'd use that against him?" he asked.

"Yes," Emily said. "He thinks I will possess you and use that against either him or you. I think he probably thinks that if he spends a lot of time around you that I will use you to kill him."

"Would you do that?" Harry asked.

"No," Emily said.

"Why not?" Harry asked. "It seems like a solid option if it's something you were capable of."

"No," Emily said sternly.

"Explain," Harry countered.

"I don't believe in taking complete control over people," Emily said. "It's wrong. People should always have control over themselves."

"You use the Imperius curse on people," Harry said.

"The Imperius curse can be resisted. They still have their sense of self even when under the spell," Emily countered.

"How many people have ever resisted your Imperius curse?" Harry asked. She smiled weakly at him.

"Well, none, but have you ever used the Imperius curse on someone?" Emily asked.

"Of course not," Harry responded, looking frightened at the mere mention of it.

"Well do it," she said.

"What?" he laughed, trying to compute that in his head.

"Use it on me, the incantation is Imperio," she said.

"I'm not going to use the curse on you," Harry said.

"Yes you are, otherwise you won't learn anything and I'll pout because you didn't do what I wanted you to," Emily snapped.

"Are you even physically capable of pouting?" Harry asked.

"Of course I am," Emily pouted.

"You look like you're sucking on a lemon," Harry responded. "Or that something smells bad. Or maybe both. It's not very effective."

"Just curse me you git," she said. She put her wine down on the end table and glared at him. "Unless you think you're too weak."

His teeth grit almost involuntarily at that. His competitive side flared and he knew in an instant that he needed to prove her wrong.

"Imperio" he said, slashing his wand at her. Her eyes glazed over for a moment and then she looked at him, blankly. He blinked twice, quickly, wondering if he'd really just used an Unforgivable Curse on Lord Voldemort.

"Stand up," he thought. And she stood. He blinked more and stared at her.

"Spin around," and she spun in a small circle. Harry stared at her, a rush of euphoria rushing through him as she obeyed his commands.

"Refill my wine," he ordered. She leaned over to pick up the bottle and walked up to him, carefully refilling his glass before setting the wine bottle down. Again, Harry felt a distinct thrill as she obeyed, it seemed to course through his very being.

He realized, in that instant, she would do whatever he wanted. That he had control over her. And that he could get her to do anything, anything at all. He felt the smile slide onto his face as his mind filled with far too many thoughts.

There was something intoxicating about it. He felt like he could do absolutely anything, like he had complete and absolute control. Every dark urge he'd ever felt rushed straight to his head.

"Dance for me," he said, this time aloud. He was imagining something far less innocent than Yule Ball dancing. No, he was imagining something far closer to what the photographs in Seamus's magazines did.

"Pass," Emily said, smirking at him. She stepped away from him and resumed her seat on the couch. Harry immediately felt empty and cold. It was alarming, like a part of him had been removed.

"I…I….I," he stammered, blushing and staring at her.

"Drink your wine," she said. He stared down at it for a moment and then took another sip. The liquid seemed to warm him in a way that reminded him of eating chocolate after a dementor attack.

"Sorry," he said.

"For being a teenage boy? You shouldn't ever have to apologize for what you are, Harry," Emily said.

"That was…" he let his voice trial off.

"Addictive," Emily said.

"Yes," Harry responded. "As soon as you did something I wanted to make you do more. It felt amazing having you obey me."

"It does that," Emily said. "There's something about it that forces you to your baser instincts, as it were. The Cruciatus Curse works much the same way. It makes you feel totally and utterly alive, like every cell in your body is on fire. For the mere cost of wanting someone else to hurt."

"So is that why people do it?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so," Emily said. "I think it's probably a disservice to assume it's purely addiction. People use the Imperius curse because they want to control something. They use the Cruciatius curse because they want to hurt someone. They are perhaps less hesitant because they know how it feels to them, but I think making that the reason is wrong."

"What about the killing curse?" he asked quietly. She took a moment to refill her own wine and sip it.

"Nothing," she said. "It just makes you feel hallow. It's a burst of raw power followed by total nothingness." He nodded and sat quietly before formulating her next question.

"You've admitted to using the Imperius curse to get your way though. If you find it wrong why do you do it?" Harry asked.

"To make things easier," Emily said. "I dislike people being under the influence of it for too long. Taking away someone's sense of self is far too close to rape for my tastes."

"But getting them to do one or two things and making it seem like their idea isn't too bad?" Harry asked.

"Something like that," Emily responded. She looked away from him and took a sip of her wine.

"I think it's wrong to do it at all," Harry said.

"And you're probably right," Emily said.

"And yet you do it," Harry responded.

"I don't recall ever claiming to be a bastion of good," Emily said. Harry actually laughed.

"I suppose you have a point. You don't seem totally corrupt and amoral though," Harry said.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Emily asked. "Or is the wine talking?"

"Probably a bit of both," Harry responded.

"Well if you're talking crazy, then perhaps it's time for bed," Emily said.

"I'm not tired," Harry yawned.

"I'm sure you're not," Emily said. "But maybe humor me."

"It is late," Harry said, looking over at the ornate clock in the room. Emily checked her watch and nodded.

"So until we reconvene in the morning?" Emily asked. Harry nodded. He had the strangest feeling that she was mostly just trying to get rid of him. But he obeyed figuring it was for the best. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He awoke to the distinct smell of baking and cinnamon. He got out of bed and walked toward the stairs figuring the smell must have been coming from the kitchen. He was in for a surprise as soon as he stepped to the staircase.

It was lined with white and gold garlands affixed with flashing lights. There was a large pine tree in the corner, decorated much like the stairway. He looked around and laughed. There were decorations on everything.

He walked into the kitchen just in time to see Emily pulling something out of the oven. She put a circular pan down on the counter and smiled at him.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," she said.

"Did you sleep at all?" Harry asked. "Or were you up all night decorating the house?"

"A bit," she said. "And I only decorated the living room. And it only took about a half hour with magic. And it really should have only taken fifteen minutes but I'm a perfectionist and couldn't get the tree to look right. Pine needles are annoying to transfigure."

"I can only imagine," Harry said.

"Would you like some cocoa or coffee?" Emily asked.

"Cocoa would be great," he said. She had saucepan on the stove behind her stirring itself. She levitated it over to an empty mug and poured some in before levitating the mug to him. He plucked it out of the air and sipped it carefully, letting the warm chocolate fill him.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Yes," he responded. He saw her start to ice the pan in front of her. "What did you make?"

"Cinnamon rolls," Emily said. "Everyone should have cinnamon rolls on Christmas, Harry." She used the knife she'd been icing the rolls with to split them and put three on a plate for him before one on her own.

"They smell great," he said before looking around. "Is there any silverware?"

"Silverware for a cinnamon roll? Where's the fun in that?" She asked faking confusion well enough. She used her middle finger and her thumb to pick hers up and took a bite of it. Harry nodded and did the same for one of his. They were quite good. He ate quietly. When he was done she offered him two more before taking another for herself.

They ate in silence. Once Harry finished he gazed over at her. She was putting the last piece into her mouth. She smiled when she noticed his gaze. She had icing on her lip, his eyes lingered on it for a moment and she could almost sense what he was thinking of. She licked it off and raised her eyebrows at him.

"You made quite the mess of yourself you know," she teased. He rolled his eyes but did move to clean himself off in the sink.

"Thanks for breakfast," she said.

"You're going to have to start doing some of the cooking," she responded. "I'm so not feeding you every day."

"I can only really do eggs," Harry admitted. "And bacon. Easy breakfast stuff mostly."

"Eggs are delicious," she responded.

"Well maybe I'll make some tomorrow," Harry said.

"I look forward to it," she responded.

"So what do we do now?" Harry asked.

"Sit by the fire, open presents, and wait until it's late enough in the day to drink," Emily said. "Unless you'd prefer to go for a walk or something."

"Presents?" Harry asked as Emily left the kitchen, moving toward the living room. He looked toward the tree and noticed one neatly wrapped package underneath it.

"Well, present," Emily said. "I'm sure your friends probably got you better things but given that your owl didn't deliver them. Which is probably for the best, I guess you'll just have to wait until you return to school.

"I didn't get you anything," Harry said.

"I figured you wouldn't," Emily said. "And I forgive you this year. But next year you better not make that mistake. Or I'll be very cross with you."

"I won't," Harry said quietly. He could tell she was joking but he still felt empty as she said it. "Can I open it?"

"Of course," she said. He walked over toward the tree and picked up the present. It was heavier than he would have expected for the size of the box. He placed it on the coffee table as she sat back on the same cushion she'd occupied the night before.

Under the wrapping was an intricately carved wooden box. He cleared all of the paper off of the box, crumpling it up and vanishing it before turning his attention to the wooden box. He opened it slowly and looked at the contents.

Inside was a carved stone figurine. It was perhaps a foot high. At first Harry thought it was a lion, but on closer inspection he assumed it was a dog. He examined it for a few minutes, lifting it out of the box and putting it on the table. It was seated and gazing forward. He looked at Emily.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A komaniu," Emily said.

"Uhm," Harry responded, clearly not understanding any more than he did before asking.

"They're eastern lion dogs, they guard the inner entrance of many Shinto shrines," Emily said. "They're believed to ward off evil spirits."

"Do they work?" Harry asked.

"The Muggle ones? I doubt it. The magical ones, sure," Emily said.

"And this one?" he asked.

"Is magical," she smiled. "Merely tap it on the forehead and tell it to guard and it will activate.

"Guard," Harry said, tapping it on the forehead with his wand. Is sprang up, looking around the coffee table. It growled once at Emily before looking to Harry and then around the room. Its eyes settled on Emily and it growled again.

"It doesn't like you," Harry said after a moment.

"I would hope that a magical guardian activated by Harry Potter would be cautious of me," Emily said.

"She's not going to hurt me," Harry said to the dog. It sat down and stopped growling, but kept its eyes focused on Emily.

"So what exactly does it do then?" Harry asked.

"Whatever area you tell it to guard, it will guard. It can't do much if your enemies are already in the area. But if they are not, they will not be able to get in without a great deal of force. This one isn't that big. It could perhaps guard a single room. A smaller area is more effective. For example if you tell it to guard while thinking of a specific portion of a room, it will guard that portion. It needs to be inside the area it's guarding too," Emily explained.

"Nifty," Harry said, reaching out to touch it gently. The stone lion leaned into his hand.

"Best I could think of on short notice," Emily said. "It's a way to get some privacy at least. I know there were times at Hogwarts when I would have killed to have one." The stone lion growled at her when she said 'killed' but made no other motion.

"I think it's pretty awesome," Harry said.

"I'm glad," Emily responded and actually looked a little relieved. "Worst case scenario I figured you could plop it on your beside table and turn it on if you didn't want anyone to wake you up in the morning."

"That would be handy," Harry laughed. "How do I turn it off?"

"Poke it and tell it to stop," Emily responded.

"Stop," Harry said, poking it once more with his wand. It immediately stopped, it's eyes closing over. He smiled at it. "Thank you, Emily."

"No problem," she responded. "Merry Christmas."

"You too," he sighed. "I wish I'd have thought of getting you something."

"Oh don't worry about it," Emily said. "I'm pretty much impossible to shop for, anyway."

"For some reason that doesn't surprise me," Harry said. He sat in the chair across from the couch again, lifting his present into his lap and staring at it. Emily stretched out on the couch and watched him, summoning more cocoa into the room as she did.

The day passed slowly. Emily fell asleep on the couch, Harry didn't seem to notice or comment. When the sun set, though, she summoned more wine up from the basement and they drank again. It was mostly a quiet evening with little conversation, but neither of them seemed bothered by the silence.

She spent a few hours in the early afternoon playing Christmas carols on her violin. Harry watched her with interest as she did, and eventually made a few suggestions that she played, rather begrudgingly, seeming to find classic hymns more interesting than songs about snowmen and reindeer.

It wasn't until shortly before he was going to bed that Harry asked something of her.

"Hey Emily?" he asked as she stared into the fire. She looked momentarily startled, like she was lost in some fantasy and finally distracted out of it.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Can I ask you for something else, too?" he asked sheepishly. She wondered if the blush rising on his cheeks was only from the wine, of if this question was going to be embarrassing for him.

"Sure," she said quietly.

"Well I am sort of teaching an illegal defense club this year at Hogwarts," Harry said.

"You sound like you think I'm going to scold you for that," Emily responded.

"Well, anyway, so far it has been mostly just me showing them how to cast spells. But it's getting pretty much to the point that I'm exhausting the stuff I know," he let his voice trail off.

"And you'd like me to teach you some magic?" Emily responded.

"Yes and no," Harry said.

"Well what then?" Emily responded.

"I want you to teach me how to duel," Harry said. Emily blinked at him.

"What?" she laughed.

"I mean I saw you fight in tournaments. And I saw you fight in the war. And it's clear you know magical combat pretty damn well," Harry said quickly.

"I do," she responded slowly. "But you should know enough to be able to tell that the battlefield and the dueling pitch were quite a bit different. I believe you even made fun of me for my loss to Grindelwald."

"I know, but, well, some experience has to be better than none, right?" Harry said. "And I'll feel terrible if I start trying to teach them and they're all better than me off the bat. I mean I hardly have any idea what I'm doing when I teach them spells as is and I know they're itching to try something more."

"You realize who you're asking, right?" Emily said.

"Yes," Harry sighed. "But honestly now, can you think of anyone better to ask?" Emily frowned, knowing full well he had a point there. She was a supremely good duelist. Of course that was to be expected, but she'd always enjoyed the one on one structure of it, and the rules of combat. All in all, the only part of it that was really useful in a fight was the knowledge of spells and counters. An actual battle, she'd learned, was something completely different. She sighed, wondering if she'd regret this decision in the near future.

But was she the best person to ask? Well skill wise certainly, but logically? No. There were plenty of talented duelists around him. She wondered if he even realized how skilled some of them were. Of course, he probably didn't have regular access to them, and he knew he was going to stay here until school started, assuming no one found them.

But, she figured, it would give her a way to test Harry Potter, a way to see just what he'd learned and just what he was capable of. A way, she convinced herself, to see if he actually was a threat. She pressed her lips together and to the side and stared at him.

A thousand questions ran through her head too. Could she even do it? Snape had told her Dumbledore's theories about why she'd failed to kill him. Would dueling trigger those protections? Would nonlethal spells trigger those protections? And that was before the can of worms that was their paired wands. Would those be able to tell the difference between life and death and sport?

The questions, she knew, would have to wait. And really, were pointless. Either she'd be able to teach him or she wouldn't. The only way they'd find out would be by trying.

"Fine," she said. "We'll begin in the morning. You'll find I'm not a very lenient teacher."

"Thanks," Harry said, smiling fully at her. It was annoying infectious and she found herself smiling back. She stood after a moment mostly so she could look away. He was already on the stairs, he looked over at her almost as if he wanted to run to her and hug her. But he didn't. Instead after a pause he just moved back up the staircase.

She watched him go before stepping back toward the kitchen, and then into a den on the back of the house. She looked around the room and figured it would work before she started to transfigure the room to suit her needs.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Acknowledgment: Spicee for beta work.

Chapter 16

Harry sat at the café table, examining London circa 1946. There was still some debris and rubble in various spots but as a whole it was clear the city was recovering rather well, shaping itself back into the London he remembered. He stared over at the table where Emily took a seat across from Martin.

"It's great to see you again," Emily said, smiling at him. Harry thought she looked like she'd put a bit more effort into her appearance than normal. She was wearing a bright dress and her hair was styled in neat waves around her face.

"You too, Emily," Martin responded. He looked warm in his business suit.

"So how have you been?" she asked as she sat down, smoothing her dress down over her legs as she did.

"I've been well," he said. "I was just decommissioned a few months ago. They finally couldn't justify the leg injury on the payroll anymore."

"That's a shame," Emily smiled playfully. "I'm going to miss Lieutenant Price. The uniform does wonders you know."

"Captain, actually," he said. "They promoted me late in the war and had me oversee a great deal of the refugee relocation attempts."

"Oh, congratulations," she said brightly.

"Thank you," he said. "The slightly better pension is rather nice."

"So if you're no longer an officer, what's your career path?"

"I'm a low level accountant for a radio broadcast company," Martin said.

"Oh well that sounds fun," Emily said.

"No it doesn't," Martin laughed. "But I always liked numbers. They just make sense, you know?"

"Only when adding and subtracting, anything else gets too complicated," Emily said playfully, her eyes flashing with delight as she spoke with him. He blushed and looked away for a moment before speaking again.

"What about you?" he asked. "What have you been doing since you vanished from the train station."

"I really am sorry about that," Emily said.

"Where did you even get off to?" he asked, eyeing her carefully.

"My friends pulled me onto my train," Emily lied. "I couldn't prevent them from doing so. I wanted to say goodbye, I really did."

"I'm sure," he said. "Anyway, how have you been keeping busy?"

"I work in an antique shop," she said quietly.

"Doing what?" he asked.

"Mostly looking pretty at the front desk," she said. "But I'm getting more and more experience at identifying items and figuring out the value. I think my boss is going to take me to Japan with him to look for items."

"Where in Japan?" he asked.

"I don't know yet," she said. "They're planning it. I think I'm probably just being brought along to try to get some experience."

"So your boss just thinks Japan is ripe for plunder?" Martin asked, his eyebrows raised. Emily stared at him, thinking that he picked that up pretty quickly and wondering just what his opinion is on it.

"I think that's probably true," Emily said. "I try to not focus on that. I just thought it would be interesting. I want to see, well, you know. I want to see if I can help, too."

"When do you leave?" he asked.

"In the next couple of weeks," Emily said.

"Well that should, at the very least, be interesting," Martin said, smiling warmly at her.

"I hope so," she smiled back. They were silent for a few moments. Martin, Harry thought, seemed to be appraising her. He seemed to be trying rather hard to figure something as he gazed at her.

"So do you have to go back to the shop today?" Martin asked.

"No I don't work on Monday or Tuesday, they're my weekend," Emily said. "I work Wednesday to Sunday."

"I see," Martin said.

"I take it you're due back?" she asked.

"I am, yes," he responded.

"Well that's disappointing," she said.

"Oh grand plans?" he asked.

"Well, no, I guess not," she said, blushing slightly.

"What were you intending?" Martin laughed.

"Oh nothing," Emily said. "I just thought maybe we could go for a walk by the river or something after lunch if you were free."

"That does sound nice," Martin responded, although Harry thought he seemed a little cold and distant as he spoke. He wasn't looking at her. Emily swallowed hard and then said quietly.

"And then maybe to dinner," she said softly.

"Ah," he said.

"I mean we still could if you wanted to. Like I said I don't have anything planned for today. I'd be more than willing to wait until you're done working. I could meet you wherever," she let her voice trail off. Harry stared at her for the briefest of moments before he started laughing. She was trying, rather poorly to flirt with him. And it wasn't even coming close to being effective. He almost felt bad for him. He'd seen her flirt to get something before, and it usually worked. But here she didn't seem to trust herself. Here she seemed lost.

He wondered why she even really wanted to flirt with him. Sure, he was handsome enough. But he wasn't anything special. He'd been kind to her years earlier, true, but is that what she'd been so broken up about when she was home alone in those evenings?

No, he knew that wasn't it. It only took him a moment to figure it out. Normalcy. She was longing for some sense of normalcy. She must have felt more at home, as it were, with Martin in that barn years ago than she did now. So she was grasping at straws to get something like that back. He wondered if it was her friends talking about marriage that pushed her to it, or if it was just the same general loneliness that he himself has grown so accustomed to.

Either way, Martin still didn't look at her as she spoke. She kept her eyes locked onto his. He was silent for a few moments before he finally replied.

"Well that does sound lovely, Emily. I really don't think that Margaret would approve," he said softly. It clicked for Harry well before it clicked for Emily. She just tilted her head to the side and looked confused.

"Who's Margaret?" she asked.

"My fiancé," he said softly, looking back to her. Her expression instantly fell, and then she blushed deeply and stared down at the empty plates on the outdoor café table.

"Oh," she said.

"We've been engaged a month. The wedding will be in May," he said softly. Harry watched Emily's face falter. He didn't think Martin could see her. Her eyes were shining when she looked up at him. But she managed to smile.

"Congratulations," she said weakly.

"Thank you," he said.

"Tell me about her?" she asked.

"Well she's my age. She was with family in Ireland during the war and we met shortly after V-E Day. She's grounded and kind. We get along quite well. She comes from a good family. One of her brothers died in the Philippines, another was in the First Airborne during Market Garden. My family loves her."

"Well that's good," Emily said. "What does she look like?"

"Well she's not as pretty as you," Martin said. He blushed and looked surprised as he said it aloud. He looked away from Emily and her one-dimpled pained frown as he did, as if he couldn't bring himself to admit that he'd said that aloud.

"That's hardly a description," Emily said softly.

"She's, well, I think I have a photo of her in my wallet," he said. He started to rifle through one until he found one and handed it to her. Harry stood and walked behind Emily, peering down at the photo on the table.

Margaret was a plump woman with light hair and eyes. She had a lively face and Harry could just tell she'd been blushing when the photo was taken. She was smoothing down an apron in the picture and appeared to be shaking her head at the photographer.

"Congratulations again," Emily said after staring at the photo for ten solid seconds. She handed it back to him, careful to just barely touch the edges of the photograph."

"You're invited, naturally," he said.

"You said it was in May?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"I'll probably be in Japan. But if I'm in London I will come," she said.

"It's actually going to be in Birmingham," he responded. "Her family is from the north and it's easier to make it more equidistant."

"Well it's still an easy train ride," she smiled. Harry doubted she was thinking about a train ride. Somehow, he suspected she was thinking of where she could floo or apparate to and be close enough to get to the ceremony.

"Indeed," he said. "I'll make sure an invitation finds you. But I won't take offense if you're out of the country."

"Good," she smiled warmly. "I hope I make it."

"Me too," Martin said quietly. He let his gaze linger on her before they were interrupted by a waiter. Harry listened as they ordered food. After, the conversation mostly turned to what he'd been doing from the end of the war to now. She managed to keep him talking the entire time.

As Harry watched he couldn't help but wonder if Martin recognized the pained look on her face. He wondered if the other man knew that she was struggling to continue to appear happy for him. He wondered if the other man could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

Of course, despite that, she was the perfect lunch date. She chatted happily with him, she smiled a lot, she was rather pleasant company. They didn't speak more about his upcoming wedding.

When they left she asked for permission to continue to write to him, stating she wouldn't want to if it bothered his fiancé. He told her to go ahead and she smiled before they went their separate ways.

She managed to not cry until she got back into her apartment. Harry watched in an almost stunned awe as she sobbed on her bed. Eventually she buried her head in the pillow and sobbed more until the memory sped forward as she fell asleep. The days flashed past in instants after that.

Harry saw her take a series of Portkeys with Burke. He watched them stop in Germany for a few days and then India, and then China, before getting on a boat to Japan. Harry watched as she acted as more of a valet for Burke.

They spent about a week in Tokyo. Burke used the time to meet with some contacts. Emily followed behind him obediently through all the meetings. When she had free time she sat in the port and gazed out over the water, admiring the naval ships there. She spent the evenings with Burke, both looked rather out of place in restaurants and shops as they tried to gain a better understanding of the area. But eventually they joined up with some soldiers and a couple of doctors and set forth to Nagasaki in a convoy of American Army jeeps.

They made it to Osaka the first day. Again, they spent a few days there. Burke spoke with some contacts and Emily followed him. She spent time exploring the city when Burke was otherwise too preoccupied.

She visited the sights and chatted with the few Japanese she could find who spoke English in the magical section of Osaka. When she'd charmed a few of the people she inquired about magical artifacts of Japan.

Almost immediately they decided they didn't want to talk to her anymore. She frowned and would continue on with her business. But she kept trying. Eventually she just went into curiosity shops and asked about things. It didn't get her particularly far, but she seemed, at least, to be having fun.

They proceeded to Hiroshima a few days later. Half of the doctors and nurses in their convoy were going to be stopping there, the rest would continue on to Nagasaki. Half of the convoy pulled off and they continued on. It took another two days with stops along the way, but eventually they drew closer to Nagsaki.

Harry watched as she and Burke both stiffened as they approached the city. They exchanged the briefest of looks and gazed around.

"Do you feel that?" Burke asked quietly, leaning over toward his employee as he spoke.

"Yes," Emily said softly. "It's like something is pressing directly down on my magic."

"Wards of some kind?" Burke asked quietly.

"It's possible but it doesn't feel like any defensive spell I've ever encountered," Emily said softly.

"Me either," Burke said. "It's like it's completely surrounding me. It's making it even hard to breathe. Where were the magical communities here?"

"Well the major two were Hiroshima and Osaka. But there's smaller pockets all over the country," Emily responded. She eyed Burke carefully. The older man was already sweating and looking rather worn out. Emily herself seemed much more composed.

"Make sure you inquire about that when we get into the town," Burke said.

"Yes sir," Emily responded as their jeep continued on. She gazed around, clutching at the side of the jeep as they drove.

"Oh my," Burke said, sitting up in the jeep as they approached. Emily looked around again. Outside the jeep was simply rubble and debris. There was some building here or there, but mostly it was simply rubble. The Jeep stopped and Emily hopped out, gazing around and swallowing hard.

"One bomb?" she asked softly, looking around, her eyes lingering on the shadow of human forms on a nearby wall.

"One bomb," a doctor said softly. Emily turned to look at him for a moment before Burke pulled her away.

They spent the day mostly getting situated. They were given a few rooms in a local house, the local family mostly ignoring them as they went about their business. Burke seemed completely okay with his. Emily; however, tried to be social with them. At least until she found out they spoke essentially no English.

Harry watched as they worked. They visited people, visited sites where buildings once sat. They tried to use magic and immediately noticed they both struggled with it, Burke more than Emily. But she too, seemed put out with it.

He saw her send a letter almost as soon as they'd settled in, bribing some troops ready to return home to deliver it for her. Harry thought there was no way that the letter would get there, but Emily seemed far more confident in it than Harry felt. He knew it was just filled with her initial impressions of everything. He wondered if there was any chance of a reply making it back.

Burke would leave the city here and there, to scour for leads or to simply venture away from the area, it was hard to say exactly. In her free time, Emily volunteered with caring for the sick and the injured.

Harry would follow her through the makeshift hospitals, thinking she looked rather natural in the nurse's uniform with the little hat. She moved from patient to patient, filling a couple hours each day trying to help.

Harry watched her, at night when no one was looking, try to heal the radiation burns, the scars, anything about them that she could. Her magic had no effect on them. He could tell it frustrated her. He could tell just how difficult it seemed to be for her to cast. He could tell as she tried more and more advanced spells on them.

This continued for months. Burke made himself more and more scarce, spending days in Osaka and other cities looking for artifacts. Emily always had something for him when she returned. She bartered for a few katanas from American servicemen that had taken them as spoils of war that she realized had permanent sharpening charms enchanted into them. One of which, she reckoned was at least three hundred years old and had a Japanese series of runes carved into it. She hadn't been able to get a translation. She'd sent one of the other ones with another letter to Martin despite not having received a response from her first letter.

She found an enchanted tea set that would poison whoever drank from it. She found an ink brush set that prevented any text from being written that contained a lie. She found other knickknacks too, like similar statues that she'd given him and a shriveled hand that would make the holder's path clear.

She'd also found a suit of samurai armor that turned out to not really be a suit of armor, but rather a construct that patrolled an area and attacked anyone on sight when it was activated.

And she found a red mask with silver filigree covering the eyeholes. It was meant to be displayed on the wall. There was a spot inside to put an empty vial and when it was set in a room with a vial affixed a silver liquid dripped in and filled the vials. It only took Harry a few moments to realize the liquid was memories that could be viewed. He wondered just how much that predated Muggle security cameras.

They also found a bundle of wooden sticks that the priestess they purchased it from claimed could dispel evil from anything it touched. At first, Burke thought it was superstitious nonsense, but Emily realized that it actually did have some dispelling properties on it. They weren't able to cast a spell powerful enough on an object to fully test. The sent it and a green jewel that supposedly had the power to control water to Borgin to see if he could test them more fully in England.

Burke seemed most interested in the sword. He only stayed a couple of days after she'd shown it to him, intending to head back to get the runes translated to figure out exactly what the sword did. He would tell her later that the runes represented valor of some type and provided enchantment not only to the blade but to the wielder. In a letter Borgin mentioned he sold it just days after it arrived in England.

Emily continued to help with the injured in her downtime. Harry watched days pass like that, then weeks, then months. He saw her calendar change to 1947 and watched as she spent more and more time at the Shinto shrine. She tried to talk with the shrine maidens but they didn't often pay much attention to her. Eventually she just started writing letters from the shrines.

Harry watched her continue to help the sick and the injured. He watched her continue to try to heal them with magic. He watched her magic betray her. He watched spell after spell fizzle out and fail. He watched her exhaust herself trying to fix them.

"That won't work," an accented vice said from the side. Emily jumped and turned, wand drawn, to face an Indian man in a military uniform with a red cross on his arm.

"How do you know," she said carefully, lowering her wand but not putting it away.

"Hogwarts," he said softly. "Graduated in 1925. Became a certified healer after. Came over here to try to help out after what the American's did."

"I see," Emily said.

"It's remarkable you can even use magic," the man said. "After the bomb very few of the wizards I've found can cast anything this close to ground zero."

"They bombed out magic?" Emily asked, looking startled.

"I doubt they even know they did it. Getting information about the bomb isn't particularly easy. But something about the after affect is hindering magic somehow. I plan on looking into it once I leave here. But every day more need my help," he said.

"Something has to work," she said.

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "I don't know that we'll ever know. I'm going to get back to my patients. Thank you for your help miss." And he walked away. Emily watched him go. She stared after him for a moment, before continuing to try to heal the sleeping patient.

She made no progress.

Harry watched things speed up again, he saw calendar days flash forward. He saw her write and try to heal patients. He saw her scout for more items to give to Burke. He could tell from watching that Burke was growing sick of Japan. But she convinced him to stay.

Borgin had sent them a missive that the first sets of items that made it back sold very quickly, so they kept looking for more and more. Emily found more items by flirting with soldiers and looking through plunder.

Harry watched as she read her first letter from Martin. It talked about his wedding and the first few weeks of his life with the new Margaret Price. Emily read it slowly, staring blankly at the paper. He discussed his wedding in detail. He talked about his honeymoon in Paris in detail, and he discussed the small house they'd moved to in Sutton in detail.

Emily folded the letter and put it into her bag. Another letter came a few weeks later. This one thanked her for the gift. He claimed to have made a stand for the sword and hung it on the wall. Margaret, he said, thought it was a little bit strange, but he liked the decoration.

His third letter, which arrived shortly after her twenty-first birthday, contained news that disheartened her even more. She stared down at the words on the page, sitting on a cool bench at a Shinto shrine. Margaret Price was pregnant. Harry couldn't read her expression as she read the letter. Martin's words in it were filled with jubilation. Emily just stared blankly at the paper.

She sat there for quite a long time before she managed to compose a letter offering her congratulations. Her cursive was shaky on the parchment as she wrote, but she managed to finish it and send it off, magically this time.

Months passed. Burke eventually set the date for their return to London. Two years, he said, was long enough. They'd gotten everything they were going to get of value. And Emily couldn't argue. They hadn't really come up with any great finds in the last few months.

Emily received another letter shortly before they left. Harry stood over her shoulder and read the text. Martin's hand, too, looked a bit less steady than normal. He sounded stressed, Harry thought. He didn't say much in this letter. But Harry got the impression that not everything was going well. He did talk about the difficulty of rationing occurring in the country. It wasn't until the end that he mentioned that the pregnancy was being quite hard on Margaret. That was all he said about it.

Emily frowned. She didn't respond. Harry wondered if she would have had Burke not chosen that movement to come in and make sure everything was packed and ready to go. She responded that it was. She spent that evening sitting outside at the shrine, watching the stars and pondering life.

The next morning they left Nagasaki and resumed their journey back to London.

Harry woke early the next morning. He snuck downstairs and into the kitchen and started to make breakfast as he'd promised. He started with bacon before moving onto the eggs. Just as he was about to finish everything he started to wonder just where in the house she slept, or if she ever did. After all, she was the one who'd passed out at the table.

Just as the eggs were ready to be plated she walked into the kitchen.

"Oh you actually made breakfast," she smiled at him.

"I said I would," Harry said quietly. "I like to do what I say I will do."

"A good trait to have," Emily said. She hip checked him out of the way of the stove and took the frying pan and distributed out the food. She then leaned over the counter with a knife and fork and started on her portion. Harry did the same, eating slowly.

"So can I ask about Nagasaki?" he asked.

"You should really focus on sleeping at night and not assuming that burying yourself in a memory will provide adequate rest," Emily responded. He noticed, though, that it wasn't a no.

"I never really needed a lot of sleep," Harry said.

"Me either," Emily responded.

"So can I ask?" Harry asked again.

"You know, it's admirable to always ask a lady's permission but when it comes to questioning it's not always necessary," Emily said.

"Aren't you a Lord?" Harry asked, smirking at her. She hip checked him again.

"Only sometimes," she responded.

"I really want to ask how that works but I have a feeling that you'll just continue to say intentionally dismissive things and irritate me," Harry said.

"Oh I irritate you now?" she asked.

"I'm amazed I did not see that coming," Harry responded dryly.

"Me too," Emily said.

"So Nagasaki," Harry said, figuring it was best if he tried to get the topic back to where he wanted it to be.

"What about it?" Emily asked.

"Did you ever figure out what it was?" he asked. Emily stared at him for a moment, but Harry could tell that she knew what he was referring to.

"Could you feel it in the memory?" Emily asked.

"No," Harry said. "But you and Burke both held yourself differently when you entered the city. And he mentioned that it was suffocating and really, he looked like it was."

"And you never really got used to it," Emily said. "Two years there and it felt as oppressive on the last day as it had the first day."

"So what was it?" Harry asked.

"Nuclear radiation. Or Fallout, whichever term you prefer," Emily said. Harry frowned a bit. He'd remembered his muggle teacher once talking about that. But he couldn't remember the specific details.

"And it made it so you couldn't cast?" Harry asked.

"Well, it made it so weaker wizards couldn't cast," Emily said. "I was still able to perform most of my magic when I tried it. Although it was considerably more difficult than normal to do so."

"But you couldn't heal the patients in the hospital," Harry said.

"No, I could not," Emily said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I have no explanation for that past basic theories," Emily said.

"Well share the one you think the most likely," Harry asked.

"The radiation is a part of them," she said. "It fights, and beats, the magic used on them."

"How is that even possible?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," she responded. "Like I said, it's just a theory."

"And you're positive it wasn't anything to do with defensive magic and that you just never figured it out?" he asked.

"Pretty positive, yes," Emily said.

"I don't think that makes a whole lot of sense," Harry responded.

"Well," Emily sighed. "You know how electricity doesn't work at Hogwarts? And modern electronic devices?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Supposedly the ambient magic from all the students and teachers overwhelms the technology and prevents it from working."

"Yes. Well, the radiation works the same way, but it swarms and overwhelms the magic. That's the best way I can think of to describe it. It's perhaps not great or very thorough magically, but it happens," Emily explained.

"Just at Hiroshima and Nagasaki?" Harry asked.

"No. I visited the nuclear testing grounds in Nevada," Emily said. "It was the same there. As well as the Three Mile Isle facility after the accident. And I stopped in Chernobyl while looking for Karkaroff a few months ago. The proving grounds were the worst, probably because the sheer number of explosions."

Harry was silent for a few minutes as he contemplated that. She took the dirty dishes and cleaned them with a flick of her wand before levitating them back into the proper places. He watched her work.

"That's why you wanted control," he said. She turned to look at him,

"What?" she asked.

"To control the muggles. You're more afraid of what they'll do to each other than what they'll do to us," Harry said.

"Well that's certainly a part of it," Emily said cautiously, gazing over at him. "A full scale nuclear war would likely decimate the magical communities in the population centers of the world. But I think we'd survive as a whole. We would have to violate the Statute of Secrecy though, as we'd have to figure out a way to create an open, inhabitable environment after. But there's no real reason to think of that. With the Cold War over I doubt there's much danger of a nuclear strike."

"Were you the only one that thought this?" Harry asked.

"No, merely one of the first. After Three Mile Island, which happened fairly close to mid-sized magical community in America, the Magical Congress realized the same thing that other wizards had discussed about Hiroshima and Nagasaki was happening there. They infiltrated the muggle congress and advocate against nuclear power and armaments. And after Chernobyl a good portion of Russian wizards did the same. Granted I wasn't really around after Chernobyl but it was good to discover that," Emily said.

"Have they come up with any magical counter to any of it yet?"

"Not past general policies of deterrence, no," Emily said.

"Did you work on one after you left Japan?" he asked.

"Here and there. But I never came up with anything satisfactory. It didn't help that you'd need an irradiated substance to actually work on. Granted I stole some from the proving ground. But nothing ever really worked. Repeated exposure made everything pretty much magically inert. It was like nothing I'd ever seen," Emily explained.

"So how does fear of nuclear radiation lead to Lord Voldemort?" he asked. "And how does that wind up leading to pureblood supremacy?"

"Again, Harry, I had a muggle father. I grew up in muggle London. I'm a half blood. What makes you think I support pureblood supremacy?" she asked.

"Well Dumbledore said," Harry responded.

"So a pureblood told you a half blood supports pureblood supremacy and you believed him?" Emily asked.

"Well I guess. But your minions attack muggles and muggleborns, and you were a Slytherin," Harry said.

"And that was really a miserable thing for me for three years until they all realized I was just better than them at magic," Emily said. "But it's about magical blood, Harry. Magic is superior."

"I don't understand how that's any different," Harry said.

"I don't care if someone has muggle parents, Harry. All magic is superior to all non magic. The muggles have only even come close to matching us because we grow stagnant. We could have probably put someone on the moon a hundred years ago had we focused on it. But our society doesn't do that. Instead they're content to hide, cower behind wards, and act like it's still the eighteen sixties," Emily scoffed.

"Well, you know, it's worked," Harry said.

"I couldn't vote, Harry, until 1951. I voted for the Labor party after the Second Great War before I was even allowed to vote in the magical community. Just because something has worked, does not mean it is the way things should be done," Emily responded.

"I did not know that," Harry said.

"That's because 'History of Magic' is 'The History of Goblin Revolts and the Wizards Who Stopped Them' and not an actual history of the Magical community," Emily said. "And while Goblin revolts are fascinating, that does not make for well-rounded individuals with a good grasp of what came before them."

"Is everything like that?" Harry asked quietly.

"No," Emily said. "It's perhaps not a fair argument, despite it being the truth. As a whole the Wizarding World has been better about most equality things than the Muggle world. We got rid of human slavery well before the muggles did."

"But we still have house elves," Harry said.

"House elves don't count," Emily said. "They develop severe mental deficiencies if they're freed. There's a great set of papers written in the sixteen hundreds detailing experiments on free elves if you're interested in looking at them. It's pretty fascinating in the long run. There appears to be something about their magic that only functions if used in a subservient way and if they lose access to their magic they go off the rocker."

"I'll, uh, pass," Harry said, wondering if it would be worth it to show those documents to Hermione. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if she'd seen them and decided they were pure rubbish.

"But anyway, before I get too distracted," she said. "As a whole, legally at least, the Wizarding World has been rather progressive when it comes to equality. Suffrage was mostly just something that wasn't ever pushed for until a group of muggleborn women realized in the thirties that they couldn't vote and did something about it."

"Well, problem solved," Harry said.

"Perhaps," Emily responded. "But the problem should have never existed. Anyway the magical community doesn't view government the same way the muggle community does. They don't look for it to legislate as much. There's little local governance. It's more of a bureaucracy than anything. Voting isn't as crucial as it is in other countries. A lot of people barely notice the difference between one minister to the next. Still, they're too content to hide."

"Why didn't you go into the Ministry then?" Harry asked.

"I tried," Emily smiled weakly. "The first job I applied for was in the Muggle Liaison Office. I wanted to set up a program where we could discreetly help refugees find family members with magic. And the second was in the department of International Magical Cooperating. I felt that after the war those would have been two good areas to be involved in."

"Did you ever figure out why you didn't get those jobs?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore blacklisted me," Emily responded quietly.

"What?" Harry asked. "No way."

"Yes way. He discreetly made it known that he would greatly prefer if I was not working for the ministry. He claimed, I learned later, that he wanted me at Hogwarts. I think he was trying to force me into the muggle world. Burke told me that he even received a letter advising to not hire me. But he never really cared about Albus Dumbledore," Emily said.

"Why would he do that?" Harry frowned, doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Fear," Emily said. "I learned something against Grindelwald that threatened the fragile peace that took hold after the war. He didn't want that information getting public. He felt it could have been catastrophic. And he was probably right. I can't say that I would have reacted any differently in his position."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Spoilers," Emily smiled.

"Tell me," Harry said, more sternly. Emily stared at him for a moment and then shook her head.

"I learned the truth of what happened between Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald and Ariana Dumbledore. But it doesn't matter, Harry. I don't blame him for that. Working for Boring and Burke ended up being a blessing. I was happy with my life," she said. Harry wanted to keep pressing her, but he frowned. It didn't seem like the right time to keep pressing.

It didn't help that he knew she wasn't telling him the truth. He'd seen her in her life after the war, and he didn't think anything that he'd seen could really be construed as happy. At least until she got to Japan. But that was years later. And while she may have benefitted from the trip, he couldn't help but think of how different the world might have been had she spent that time helping refugees find their families instead.

"But something changed," he said quietly.

"Of course something changed," she laughed. "Something always changes."

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Harry asked.

"You'll see what happens soon enough, do you want to make all of your time and effort pointless?" Emily asked.

"Well no," Harry said.

"I didn't think so," Emily said. "So would you like to learn how to duel now?"

"Uhm," Harry said.

"Oh you were all amped up about it last night," she responded.

"Well, I'm not sure if I should duel you," Harry said. "Last time we did that weird thing with our wands happened."

"True," Emily said. "But there's ways around that. For one, I think that had a lot to do with the intent. A lot of magic is based on intent. But for now I figured that I wouldn't bother using a wand."

"You're going to duel me without a wand?" Harry asked, sounding incredulous.

"Yes," Emily said.

"But wandless magic is less precise, less formed and considerably less powerful," Harry said. "You can't really cast a direct spell with it."

"Never tell a lady she can't do something, Harry. Unless that's exactly what you want her to do," Emily smiled. Harry flushed red.

"I highly doubt that works," he responded.

"Oh you'd be surprised," Emily smirked. "Now come on. I didn't stay up all night making a dueling pitch so that you could blow me off."

She led him into what was, at one point, a long dining room. Now it was simply an empty room with a long raised platform in the middle. Two spots had been marked at each end of the platform. Harry eyed it and said dryly.

"This took you all night?" he asked, finding it to be rather plain.

"No I just wanted to make you feel bad about it," Emily responded.

"You are just mean," he said.

"You have no idea," Emily responded. "But you're soon to find out."

"Ominous," Harry said.

"Indeed, now, wand out," she ordered. "Show me a shield."

"Protego," Harry said, casting a large shield in front of him.

"No," Emily said. "Restrain it, focus it. The more focused, the stronger it is. Only make it big if you need it to be big. Try again." And Harry did. It took a half hour before she was satisfied with his shield charm. Next she showed him how to properly affix it to his arm, and then how to best move while keeping himself protected.

Then she made him show her each of the offensive spells he knew. That took another hour or so. She made him change the way he cast every spell. Some were minor tweaks, other major, ranging from arm movements, to exactly how he said the incantation, to how he held himself while using it.

And then when that was done she promptly told him that his spell choice was totally worthless and proceeded to spend the rest of the morning teaching him a variety of new spells.

Harry found himself reminded of the conversation she'd had with Dumbledore about how Grindelwald thought spells should always do more than one thing. She seemed on the same page. Her favorite seemed to be a blasting curse that turned into molten bits of shrapnel on impact. Harry didn't really want to think of what that would do to a body.

Eventually, they broke for lunch. They walked to a pizza place a few blocks over and split a deep dish with pepperoni. Emily eyed it carefully, seeming totally annoyed by the thickness of it. But Harry ate rather happily as Emily poked at it repeatedly with a fork. She ended up eating more garlic bread than anything else.

When they returned to the house, Emily took him right back to the dueling pitch and they resumed. She continually showed him more and more spells. This time she started with more elemental based magic. She taught him how to create and control wind more effectively. She showed him how to handle fire efficiently. And she demonstrated how to use water and ice to trip up the opponent.

Then she demonstrated how to effectively add those to his spells. She showed him how a bludgeoner could be augmented by using wind to force someone into its path. She showed him how to trip up an opponent with water and lead them into a spell. She showed him how to herd an opponent with fire into another barrage.

Annoyingly, she demonstrated all of these things on him without telling him how to counter any of it.

Around dinner she decided they were done for the day. She took him out once more. He found he was rather worn out and sore when they returned. Emily suggested a bath before disappearing, leaving him to his own devices.

They settled into a bit of a routine after that. Every day she would work with him on spells and combat. It was three days before she actually started to fight him. She never used a wand and he never managed to land a spell on her.

By lunch on New Year's Eve he was starting to think it was a bit of a lost cause. She battered him around without much effort. The annoying part was he could tell just how little effort she was putting into it. Every spell she used he could feel the reserve of power she holding back. And to make it worse, she was just faster than him, too. He had no Earthly idea how he would ever be able to best her.

She hopped off the pitch and poured him a glass of water, handing it to him. He just stared at her for a moment and frowned.

"How do you seem to know what I'm going to do before I do it?" he asked.

"You think really loudly," she responded.

"Oh great," Harry frowned.

"If it makes you feel better it's much harder to read someone's mind in a real battle. There's just too much going on around you that you have to pay attention to. When it's one-on-one like this, though, it's easier," she said.

"You can read my mind?" Harry asked quietly.

"Well when you scream about it, yes," Emily responded. "And you may not want to think of your opponent as cute before you fight them."

"I erm ah," Harry said. Voldemort just smirked at him.

"Couldn't resist," she said.

"You are so evil," he responded. "Teach me how to silence it?" Emily stared at him after he asked. She bit her bottom lip and frowned. Teaching Harry to protect his mind could be problematic. As is, being able to get into his head was a rather great boon to her.

Then again, and her eyes flicked to his scar as she thought, it might not matter if he was able to keep most outside forces out. She had another door that may or may not close if she taught him how to protect his mind. He seemed to notice her silence on the matter and continued speaking.

"I mean I know you're doing a lot for me and I guess it's just one more thing I'm asking but there has to be a way that I can be not so obvious," he said quickly. She paused and sighed, shaking her head.

"Okay," she said quietly, wondering to herself why she was caving so easily on this. The horcrux, she convinced herself, would override any mental blocking. She'd still be able to get even. So really, it didn't matter. She'd told Snape to not do this, specifically, just in case she was wrong. But she was so rarely wrong.

"Awesome," he said. "I'm going to be able to hit you by the time we're done."

"You do not give up much, do you?" she asked.

"I try not to," Harry said. "I don't like how it feels to give up."

"Me either," Emily said quietly. "At the very least your defense club is going to be in for a rude awakening when you start showing them how to fight."

"I just hope I don't accidentally hurt someone," Harry laughed.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. But I'll teach you some healing spells. They don't usually start those until your final year at Hogwarts. You have to be careful with them, a lot can go wrong with a minor mistake," Emily said. "Now go get changed."

"What, why?" Harry asked.

"Because we're going to _A Christmas Carol_ at the Goodman Theater," Emily said.

"You are really bad at asking if I want to do these things," Harry said.

"Yes," Emily responded. "I am. But I like the play and I wanted to go and I figured that since it's my well, anyway, I figured that I'd get the tickets and we'd go."

"Fine," Harry laughed. He paused for a moment. "I've never been to a theater what should I wear?"

"Jeans and a collared shirt should be fine," Emily said. Harry nodded and disappeared upstairs.

He came down a few minutes later to see that Emily had put on a green dress with matching short heels. He took note that she hadn't worn much black in their time together. He rather liked it when she wore lighter colors. He thought she looked rather dressed up, like perhaps it was some type of special occasion for her. He wondered just what that could be.

He frowned as he realized he was thinking that, and that she might be able to hear it. He looked away from her as she put on a short jacket and offered his own coat to him.

He shrugged it on and they walked outside. They walked to the theater for the matinee showing and slipped inside amongst the muggles. He sat next to her and paged through the playbill out of general curiosity. After a moment he just looked over at her. She was paging through her own playbill and not really seeming to be paying attention to what was going on around her, a small smile on her face as the lights in the hallway flashed the warning that the play would start shortly.

Harry thought, as he looked at her, that she looked happy. And that he felt happy seeing her happy. He knew that was wrong. But there was something infectious about it. He knew he shouldn't care at all about her emotions, that she wasn't worth that. But he couldn't help himself.

It hurt when he realized that he, too, felt happy. That being in an unfamiliar city with an unfamiliar companion seemed worlds better than anything he'd had in his life that wasn't his first years at Hogwarts. He wondered, as a voice on stage began to explain the importance of Marley's death, if he'd even be able to go back to England. Or if it would be better if he just left everything behind? If, rather than doing what everyone expected of him, he started to act purely for himself? If he just went and lived his life how he wanted to live it?

He wondered what Emily would do if he did that. And worse, he wondered just what that would mean for Lord Voldemort and England. Was that her ploy? To make him love Chicago? To make him never want to return to England?

He frowned as he didn't want to think of that any longer. He shook his head and turned his attention to the stage, knowing full well that there would be time to contemplate and argue about that at a later date. For now, he figured, it would simply be best to pay attention to the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge and enjoy New Year's Eve.

Something about the holiday stuck out in his mind, but he couldn't quite picture its importance. He'd never really celebrated it much. There had bene parties in the common room when he'd stayed for the holiday. But that wasn't really that much different than any other day of the holiday break.

Still, something struck him as odd. And, for some reason, it had something to do with Emily. He tried to remember if the date stuck out in any of her memories, but nothing came to him. He shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to the stage, finding it odd that Scrooge didn't have a British accent.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Spicee on the beta work.

Chapter 17

Emily kept him out until well after midnight. They watched all of the New Year's celebrations from a party at a club that she'd tricked a bouncer into letting enter. While there, she consistently made sure they had plenty of champagne too. By the end of the night, Harry could barely walk.

Still, that hadn't prevented them from stopping in a tiny Irish bar on State street at three in the morning because Emily wanted nachos. How Emily had determined that said Irish themed establishment would have nachos, or be serving food at three in the morning, was beyond Harry's capabilities at that time. All he really remembered was sitting at a corner stool and shoveling cheesy chips into his mouth. It wasn't unpleasant.

He vaguely remembered Emily leading him up to his room and tucking him into bed. He also remembered her conjuring a bucket and leaving it next to the bed. He remembered wondering what the hell that could be for before he drifted off to sleep.

Harry rather distinctly remembered waking up what felt like a minute later. He wasn't entirely sure how he made it to the bathroom, but he did. He vomited for what he would have thought was an hour. He collapsed against the toilet and fell asleep again.

He woke up an hour later to vomit some more, swearing that he would never again let a nacho enter his mouth.

Once he'd finished he took a shower. Part of him debated taking a bath, but he thought he might drown if he lay down in the water. It took him far too long to clean himself and then dress.

He wasn't surprised to find Emily in the kitchen. And he wasn't surprised that she looked as awful as he felt. He was surprised that she managed to somehow look good while looking like utter shit.

She wore a black tank top and dark green cotton pants. Her hair was a mess and looked like an avian creature could be starting a family in it. She was leaning over a cauldron, poking at it with her wand, looking like she was barely aware of what she was doing.

"What did you do to me?" he asked quietly, rubbing his temples.

"You did it to yourself," Emily snapped, irritably. "I don't recall making you drink."

"I don't even really recall drinking," Harry said quietly, wondering why she was shouting at him. He sat down at the table as the kitchen started to spin around him.

"You kept up like a champion," Emily said. "It was almost impressive. At least until we had to walk home."

"I don't know that we technically had to," Harry said. "We could have apparated."

"I do not recommend apparating drunk," Emily said. "That's a good way to splinch your head off."

"Can that even happen?" Harry asked. Sure, he'd heard of apparation injuries, but he'd never heard of someone going that far.

"Yes," Emily said. "It can. And it's really hard to heal."

"It's possible to heal that?" Harry said.

"If you're super quick," Emily said. She then sniffed at the cauldron, turned a shade of green, and quickly turned to the sink. She gagged into it a couple of times, but nothing came up.

"I don't really want to think about that any longer," Harry said.

"Me either," Emily replied as she returned to the cauldron.

"So did the nachos taste better going down than they did coming up?" Harry asked, secretly wondering if he'd ever want to eat melted cheese, or chicken, or jalapenos, or black beans, or chips, ever again.

"I don't remember," Emily said. She went back to stirring the cauldron. Harry saw her add some type of leaf he didn't recognize, followed by an entire egg, shell and all.

"Oh," Harry responded. "So any reason we got totally pissed?"

"Well for one, it is a new year," Emily said quietly. Harry head rumbled every time she spoke. It made him not want to ask any more questions. But if he didn't talk then all he did was think about the pounding in his head. So he took the momentary placebo of speaking.

"And for two?" he asked, feeling the bile rise in his throat as he spoke again. He swallowed hard against it and hoped it would go away. It did, slowly.

"You only turn twenty-something for the second time once?" Emily asked quietly. She pressed her wand into the cauldron and it started to simmer.

"What?" Harry asked, not really comprehending what she was saying.

"Well, twenty-four I think. But it's pretty much impossible to get an exact handle on it. There's a pretty good chance that I'm younger," Emily said.

"Yesterday was your birthday?" he asked quietly. He knew something about the date, past the holiday, had stuck out in his head. But at the time he hadn't been able to put anything definite on the date.

"Yes," she responded.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"I didn't think it really mattered," Emily said.

"I would have been less of a prick about going to the play," Harry said.

"One snide comment hardly makes you a prick, Harry," Emily said. She lowered her wand from the cauldron and instead started to rub her temples.

"Is getting drunk a birthday tradition for you?" Harry asked.

"It has been known to happen," Emily responded. "But I don't know that I would go so far as to call it a tradition. It certainly isn't a yearly occurrence. And it hasn't happened for a long time." Harry couldn't tell if she was trying to be clever, given the fact that she'd spent a decade and a half as a wraith and he highly doubted she was capable of consuming alcohol while a wraith. His head hurt too much to formulate a clever response. So instead he turned his attention to the only other object in the room.

"What are you brewing?" he asked quietly.

"Hangover cure," Emily responded.

"Is it supposed to smell like gasoline, sulfur, and ammonia at the same time?" Harry asked.

"I hope so," Emily said quietly. She sniffed at the cauldron once more though, making a face.

"Never make it before?" Harry asked.

"I've made a hangover cure before but I've never used this recipe," Emily said, nodding to an open spell book on the table. "The one I'm more familiar with smells more like burnt hair."

"Oh," Harry said. "When will it be done?"

"A couple of minutes," Emily said. "Assuming I don't pass out."

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No. Mostly it just needs to sit and then simmer once more and serve hot. Fair warning. It very well might be the worst thing you ever put into your mouth," Emily explained.

"Does it work, though?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Emily responded. "Well at least it should or I'll be very disappointed in my potions brewing abilities."

"I hate potions," Harry said dryly.

"Understandable. It is certainly not everyone's cup of tea," Emily responded.

"I think I just hate Snape," Harry said. "I have no idea how I'd like it if anyone else taught it. Who taught you?"

"A man named Horace Slughorn," Emily said. She started to press her wand into the cauldron again, after a moment it started to simmer once more. "He was rather full of himself. But if you tuned out his boring conversations he could be interesting."

"I see," Harry said. "Well then I'm willing to try it," He rubbed his temples and pressed his eyes tightly together as if doing so would crush the pain coming from inside his head.

"Alright then," she said. She conjured two goblets and poured the liquid from the cauldron into them. She slid one across the counter toward him.

"This seriously smells terrible," Harry said.

"Oh don't be a baby," Emily scoffed. She took a deep breath before slamming her goblet. She managed to keep herself composed as she drank it and then turned her gaze to Harry.

"Horrible?" Harry asked.

"Not at all, drink up," Emily choked. Harry stared at her for the briefest of moments. He stared at the potion for a moment, still a little bit wary about drinking something directly from her, even though he fully knew she'd have poisoned him by now if she was going to. And, really, he'd rather be poisoned than think about how much his head hurt for another moment.

He brought the goblet to his lips and drank deeply from it. It was every bit as horrible as he thought it would be. He managed to swallow all of it, largely from memories of the various potions he'd had to drink while in the hospital wing. Despite the warmth from the goblet when he held it, the liquid felt cool as it pierced through him.

Unfortunately as soon as he'd gotten it down it threatened to come straight back up. He ran to the sink and started gagging.

"If you throw it up it won't work and I'm not brewing another," Emily said, rubbing her temples gently as her own stomach settled.

"Hate you," Harry gagged into the sink. But after swallowing hard a few times he started to feel a little more normal. After a few more dry heaves he realized that he wasn't going to throw up. He turned back to face her.

"As you should," she said quietly. He watched as she cleaned out the cauldron, not really paying too much attention to her surroundings as she did. He spent a moment composing himself.

"So what now?" he asked as she vanished the goblets. His head still ached and he still felt nauseous, but he could feel that subsiding slowly. It wasn't going to be an instant fix, but if it continued he figured he'd feel normal in minutes. She looked at him and laughed quietly, shaking her head.

"Well I'm going to take a nap," Emily said.

"What?" he asked.

"I slept about an hour last night and I feel like death. So I'm going to nap. Probably on the couch in the living room because I'm pretty sure if I try to go up the stairs I'll make it halfway before collapsing," Emily said.

"You nap?" he asked.

"Depends on who's asking," Emily said as she stepped into the other room.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well if a Death Eater is asking. No, I do not nap. I do not eat. I do not sleep. I do not even really need to breathe," Emily responded.

"What?" Harry laughed.

"Lord Voldemort has evolved beyond such trifling needs, Harry," Emily said.

"That's absurd," Harry responded.

"Well don't tell the Death Eater's that," Emily responded, smirking at him. "I'd hate to have them start questioning things."

"Do they seriously think that?" Harry asked.

"Well I've heard them whisper about how they never see me eat or sleep, so to some extent. I'd like to think they're not literally dumb enough to believe it. But I've been wrong before," Emily said.

"Is that intentional?" Harry asked.

"Of course it is," Emily responded as she slid onto the couch. She conjured a pillow and a blanket with a flick of her wrist and started shifting around as she attempted to get comfortable.

"But why?" he asked.

"Because I want them to fully understand that I am better than them," Emily said. "It's just a way for me to demonstrate how superior I am to them. I'd rather they think I've come up with some advanced magic that makes me not require typical human things."

"So it's an illusion?" he asked.

"More or less," Emily shrugged. "Given that we know actual illusions exist, I prefer to think of it as a deception rather than an illusion."

"That's pedantic," Harry said.

"I would have thought you would have learned I am rather pedantic by now," Emily yawned from the couch.

"Weren't you going to teach me to not let you into my head?" Harry asked.

"I was going to nap," Emily said. "And you are now hindering that."

"Sorry," Harry said, looking away from her on the couch.

"You should be," Emily said. "Now if you really wanted to get started with that, the first thing you need to decide is if you prefer serenity or clutter."

"What?" Harry asked.

"There are two main methods to blocking your thoughts. They both present their own unique challenges when attempting to master them. Almost anyone can master one of them. But most people are not capable of mastering both. So you need to pick which sounds more appealing to you," Emily said.

"Which are you?" Harry said.

"That's a bit of a personal question, don't you think?" Emily said.

"Well maybe but I've seen you, well, you know," Harry said.

"I am seriously moments from cursing you," Emily said.

"Oh, sorry," he responded. He remained quiet then. His head still hurt but the coolness of the potion was spreading slowly to his head. He figured he'd feel normal soon enough. He wandered toward the door of the house. Part of him wanted to take a walk, but part of him also wasn't sure if he should go outside without her. He had no idea if people were looking for him.

Well, that wasn't true. He knew people were looking for him. But he had no idea if they had any idea where he was. He frowned at the absurdity of that sentence in his head. He wondered how hard it would have been to trace them to Chicago.

He stared at the streets. It was snowing outside. He watched the flakes fall for a few moments before returning to the living room. He watched her sleep until it felt too creepy to continue to do so.

He looked around the room, willing the time to pass faster, when he heard an annoyed sigh from the couch.

"You're just going to continue to fidget and look lost if I try to sleep, aren't you?" Emily asked.

"I guess," Harry said.

"Did you think about my last question?" she asked, sitting up on the couch.

"Not really, no," Harry said.

"Well then, think about it," Emily said.

"I don't really understand what you're getting at," Harry said.

"Obviously," Emily said. She stretched her arms above her head and looked at him, her brows raised. Harry knew, instinctively, that she was looking for some type of answer. That she wasn't going to give it to him directly.

"So Serenity and Clutter," he said quietly. He frowned. He knew what each of the words meant. But what did that have to do with his mind? And how in the world would that possibly keep things out of it. How could one of those two, stupidly vague words have any bearing at all on what she was going to teach him. If she even taught him how to do it. For all he knew she didn't want him to learn. So really, what was the point—

He paused mid thought and looked at her.

"Clutter. Definitely clutter," he said.

"And what makes you say that?" Emily asked.

"I had about twelve thoughts going at once when you said that," Harry said.

"Well there you go," Emily said.

"How does that help me?" Harry said.

"There's only really two ways to keep people from peeking into your thoughts," Emily said. "Totally clear your mind, or make your mind so cluttered that even if they get in they can't make any sense of it."

"I see, well how do I do that then?" Harry asked.

"With a great deal of focus," she said. "Here let's just go and practice."

"Uhm are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Yes," she said, standing and walking to where they practiced dueling. And that was how they spent the rest of the day. It was, Harry thought, both rather miserable but rather enlightening as well.

She continued to beat him, handedly, but he thought he was getting more of a hang of it. She would yell at him, pretty much the entire time. She'd yell out his thoughts, she'd yell out what spell he was going to use, she'd yell at him that he wasn't trying hard enough.

It was infuriating. But it was more infuriating that deep down he knew she was right. He was too busy thinking about exactly what he should think about that he'd often freeze and not really understand just what was going on. And the more he thought about it, the more confusing everything became in his mind.

They practiced for three more days. She'd take him out for lunch and dinner between sessions and spend most of the time critiquing what he did before. At night, after they'd return from dinner, she'd help him with his winter assignments. She'd snap a bit when he couldn't remember proper dates, and would often lecture for far too long about certain spells, but as a whole he got his homework done quickly. Sometimes she'd just let him read the required pages of the textbook while she played the violin.

On the fourth day, during their morning, he finally managed it. She was dancing around his spells as normal. But he noticed she seemed more focused than normal as she blocked all of his magic. He kept firing spells back at her, wondering how it could feel so much like he was trying to fight against an oncoming tide.

But through it all, she finally slipped. He caught her by focusing on blasting curses. He thought of shooting another at her, to her left, the way the last ones had still been driving her. But instead he managed a cutter off to the right. She jumped back and he saw her eyes flash with annoyance as she knew she wouldn't be able to shield in time.

He saw the cutter rip through her shirt and pierce through her left side. He smirked as her eyes flashed angrily, and readied his next spell. But she brought her hand up instead, yelling angrily.

He didn't see whatever spell she used. But he certainly felt it. A magical blast pressed through him. The world seemed to pause for a moment before he felt himself being pressed backwards. He fell off of the dueling platform and felt a sharp pain through his head before everything went black.

Moments later he opened his eyes to see Emily leaning over him. She was pressing a cool cloth to his forehead, looking rather alarmed.

"What the hell was that?" he asked groggily.

"A magical shockwave," Emily said. "I didn't really mean to do it."

"Sure you didn't," Harry laughed. Emily just looked away from him.

"Well maybe a bit," she said, he could see the dimple on her face as she smiled.

"You're still bleeding," he said, gesturing to her cut on the left side. She paused and turned to look at it. She frowned, tracing her hand down over it and for a moment looked rather pensive.

"Oh," she said before healing it with a wave of her wand.

"I got you," he giggled, the whole room still seemed a little bit foggy.

"And I may have concussed you in return," Emily said.

"I'm fine," Harry responded, sitting up. The whole world spun around him for a moment. But it settled. He moved the cool cloth from his face and placed it on the ground near him.

"I doubt that, but I think it's time to call it a morning and get some lunch," Emily said. Harry nodded.

"You're probably right," Harry said. He moved to stand but when he did everything started to spin again and he fell back against the wall.

"Maybe I'll just make lunch rather than us going out to get it," Emily said. "You just sit there and, well, yell if you vomit or pass out."

"Will do," Harry said, wondering just how he'd manage to yell if he passed out. He shrugged his shoulders as she stood to step out of their dueling room and into the kitchen. He figured he'd deal with that if it happened and just do his best to stay coherent.

Emily returned a moment later with a sandwich on a plate and a glass of orange juice. She sat next to him on the floor, leaning up against the wall and offered him the plate. He took it, staring down almost absently at the food.

"Ham and Swiss," she said. "I didn't know if you'd prefer that or turkey. I can go make a turkey one if you'd prefer."

"This is fine," he said. He picked up half of it and started eating. She just sat next to him as he ate. He put the plate down when he was finished and drank the juice. The room had stopped spinning again, and he felt better. Part of him thought he should get up, maybe go for a walk, or do anything that wasn't simply sit on the floor.

But he felt oddly tired. He closed his eyes and did his best to stifle a yawn. His head lolled to the side, as if looking for a pillow. All it could find was Emily's shoulder. She smelled nice, he thought, soft and fruity like fresh berries. He kept his eyes closed and let sleep take him.

He woke on the couch, a blanket over him, his head wedged under a pillow. Soft music was coming from the corner of the room. He opened his eyes to see Emily at a chair in the corner, playing quietly.

"How long did I sleep?" he asked. It was already dark outside, but given the time of year that didn't necessarily mean he'd been out for particularly long.

"Half the day," Emily said. "It's just after seven."

"Oh," he said. "Sorry about that."

"Not your fault," she responded. "Do you feel better?"

"Much," he said. "But hungry."

"Let's go get dinner then," she said. "Would you like to change first or would you prefer to shower or change first?"

"I'm fine," he responded. "But I think I'm going to bring my bag. I have a feeling it's going to be an early night and if I can get some work done during dinner."

"You're just saying that because you know I can't get as animated when lecturing in public," Emily scoffed.

"Well, that might be part of it," Harry laughed. "But that so wasn't my intention. I'm sure you'll be able to quietly hiss at me during dinner."

"I think it would draw more attention if we hissed at each other through the meal," Emily deadpanned.

"I forgot we could actually do that," Harry laughed. He slid off of the couch and pointed his wand toward his bedroom, summoning his bag of books to him with a quiet incantation. She put her violin away and lifted her purse onto her shoulder.

"Well it's best if we don't," she hissed. "Just draws weird stares."

"I imagine," he said, not trusting himself to hiss back. And they left the house together once again. They walked a few blocks until they found an appealing French named restaurant that, to Harry's surprised, served Vietnamese food. He let Emily order for him as they worked through his homework. Harry didn't pay that much attention to the food, past nothing that it was quite good.

A few hours later they stepped from the restaurant. Emily paused as soon as she was outside.

"Oh shoot," she said. "Forgot my purse!" She ducked back into the restaurant, moving toward their table which he could see through the window. Her purse was slung over the chair. Harry watched her for a moment before stepping toward the corner of Rush and Oak.

"Finally found you, Potter," a cold voice snarled to his side. Harry turned, instinctively reaching for his wand, only to see Severus Snape reaching for him. The potion's master grabbed him by the throat and activated something in his other hand.

Moments later Harry found himself flying high above Chicago, spinning in rapid circles that were not doing his head any favors. It seemed to never end, taking minute after minute, but eventually he found himself shooting toward the streets of London.

Finally, he found himself standing outside of the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. He fell to his knees looking up at the building and then looked at Snape.

"You bastard," he said. "You have no idea what."

"Shut up, Boy," Snape spat back. Harry could feel the potion's master's anger as his eyes flashed. "I wasted my entire vacation searching around for you. It's always about you isn't it. You just can't be happy unless you're the center of everyone's attention."

"Don't tell me to shut up," Harry responded coldly, his eyes flashing. He reached for his wand as the door to headquarters opened and Molly Weasley came rushing out.

"Harry dear! We were so worried!" she yelled. Harry tried to stand and step away from her but he couldn't avoid the suffocating hug that came moments later. He slipped from Mrs. Weasley and turned to where Snape should have been. But the older man was already gone. He felt himself being pulled into the house. He resisted until he realized Snape was completely gone and that he couldn't follow. A flash of anger shot through him, through his scar, through every fiber of his being. He wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to end Severus Snape.

He found himself being pressed into a chair at the kitchen table. There wasn't anyone else awake in the house. He wondered just what time it was, knowing full well that it had to be quite early in the morning.

"Let's get some food in you," Mrs. Weasley said jovially. Harry blinked at her, the words snapping him out of his anger.

"I'm not hungry," Harry said.

"Nonsense Harry!" she said.

"I was literally just at dinner," Harry snapped. "I had a wonderful chicken dish with Japanese eggplant, mango, beans and some type of curry sauce. I was going to wander over toward the nearby chocolate shop and get a shake when I was, rather rudely, kidnapped."

"What?" Molly looked alarmed as she stared at him.

"I don't want to be here," Harry said.

"That's nonsense Harry," Molly said, her face softening and Harry could tell she was trying as hard as she could to be sympathetic. But he didn't want sympathetic. He wanted snide comments and a dimpled smile. But he had the feeling he wasn't going to be getting either of those.

"It's not nonsense," Harry said. He stood from his chair and stepped away from her when she tried to move toward him. "I'm here against my will. I'm leaving."

"You can't do that, Harry, that's far too dangerous!" Molly said.

"The most dangerous thing I ran into was Severus Snape," Harry snapped.

"Harry he found you in Chicago!" she gasped. "You-Know-Who is supposedly in Chicago! That was what our last intel said. She was chasing you! Who knows what could have happened had she found you!" Harry couldn't help it. He started laughing.

"That's rich," he said.

"Harry Potter this isn't funny!" Molly yelled.

"I'm leaving," Harry said. He stepped toward the door. He knew where he'd go. He suddenly remembered why Emily's apartment looked so familiar. It was only a few blocks away, near that park where she'd met him over the summer. He could get there. She'd have to return to it at some point.

Of course, there were only a few more days left of vacation. It was perhaps, more prudent, to just stay at Headquarters. But he didn't want to be there. He could have tolerated being at Hogwarts. But he struggled to look at the people who had let him rot at Privet Drive all summer.

"I can't let you do that," Molly Weasley said, stepping between him and the door out of the house. Harry looked at her. He took one step back and realized he still had his wand in his hand.

"Do you really think you can stop me?" he asked quietly. He saw the color drain from Mrs. Weasley's face. She stammered, looking more afraid than angry, before a voice from behind them interrupted.

"Are you really going to hex my mum?" Ron asked. Harry paused and turned to look up the stairs. Ron Weasley leaned against the wall that housed far too many house elf heads.

"Probably not," Harry said, lowering his wand.

"Good," Ron said. "That would be a bit of a dick move."

"Ronald!" Molly said.

"Some of us are trying to sleep," Ron yawned. "It's three in the morning after all."

"Yes, you should get some sleep, Harry," Molly said.

"It's nine for me," he snapped. "But fine. I'll be upstairs." He walked past Ron, giving him a brief glance before stepping up the stairs. He didn't move to his bedroom though. He didn't want to sleep. Instead he moved to the attic. He locked the door behind him with a flick of his wand and sat against the wall.

He wondered if Emily was still looking for him. He wondered just what she thought had happened. He frowned at the dark wall of the attic. After a few minutes he remembered he still had his bag slung over his shoulder. He reached into it and picked through the spell books until he realized he didn't really want to study. At the bottom of the bag, though, he found Emily's diary.

He stared at the battered book for a few moments. Harry wasn't quite sure if he wanted to see her again already, or if it would just remind him that he'd been having fun in Chicago, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. In the end, though, he knew that it would at least be more entertaining than staring at the wall and the sleeping creature in the corner.

Harry rejoined Emily Riddle in Borgin and Burke's. The three of them were in the closed shop, arranging artifacts and creating displays for some of the new items that they'd brought back. The men left Emily in charge of the display portion, and she slipped through the shop, placing things in areas where they would draw the most attention.

As they worked, Borgin was explaining the recent news of the post-war. He also spent a few moments telling Emily that they'd paid her rent from her wages while she was in Japan. Emily thanked them and after a few more hours Burke told her that she looked terrible and that she should go and get some sleep. He also told her to not bother coming in the next couple days, to take the time to get her body back on schedule.

Emily rolled her eyes at the man's bluntness. But she thanked him for the days off and wandered out of the shop. She wandered through the empty Knockturn alley and into the empty Diagon alley. She stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and ordered a drink at the bar. She spent a few moments talking with a few of the patrons who she recognized, they asked where she'd been the last couple of years and she talked in detail of working in Japan.

After that she walked home. She looked rather disappointed as she stared around her apartment. And even more so when she realized the cupboards were completely barren. She sighed and decided to simply go to bed.

Harry watched days pass quickly after that. He saw her shop for groceries, work, wander London, meet up with a few old classmates, dine out alone here and there, and continue to expand upon her spell book collection.

He saw her start practicing magic again, after her time in Japan. He saw her seem a bit shocked at how easy some of the spells came to her. He wondered if being near ground zero for so long had been a bit like resistance training for her. He made a note to ask her when he was out of the memory, but then he remembered that he wouldn't be able to do that. He cursed in the memory and went back to watching as she received a letter.

She frowned at the parchment but crumpled it up and tossed it into the fireplace before Harry could read it over her shoulder. She frowned and sat in a chair at her small table before the memory flashed forward once more.

He watched her walk through a light mist. She was wearing a full topped black dress, her skirt rustling around her as she moved. She stepped through cemetery toward the people milling around a casket.

She paused near the back of the group and stared at the photo of the plump blonde woman resting on the casket. She stood at the back and watched. Harry wandered through the memories and up toward the casket. He saw the headstone and Margaret Price had been twenty-eight years old. Michael Price hadn't even been a day.

Martin Price sat in the middle of two older couples, a few days growth of beard on his face, his eyes looking sunken and lost. The woman next to him, Harry assumed it was his mother, was rubbing his back gently as a priest spoke next to the coffin.

Emily waited until the priest was done talking, until the coffin was lowered into the ground and people started shoveling dirt onto it. When the crowd dispersed, she finally stepped up to him.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said quietly. She looked it too, Harry thought. Her lips were curled down into a frown and there were tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. But she stayed composed.

"Thank you," Martin said. He closed the small gap between them and hugged her rather tightly. But he broke away after a mere moment.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"She was ill almost all of the pregnancy," Martin said softly. "She went into labor early and by the time it was over…" His voice trailed off. Emily just nodded.

"I am so sorry," she said softly.

"Thank you," he said again. They stared at each other for a moment. Harry could feel the awkward silence even in the memory. But eventually Emily spoke again.

"It's good to see you," she said quietly. Harry thought that was a horrible thing to say during a funeral, but Martin just smiled at her.

"You too," he said. "I was glad to hear you were back from Japan. How was it?"

"It was, well, it was interesting," Emily said. She could see Martin's mother walking toward them.

"That's it? Interesting?" he laughed. "That sounds like the understatement of the century."

"Well, someday I'll tell you about it," she said. "But it looks like they need you over….well."

"Oh," Martin said, turning and looking over at his parents, what must have been Margaret's parents, and the priest.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" she said.

"Okay," he nodded. She hugged him this time, gently squeezing him to her. Her body, Harry noticed, seemed to fit perfectly into the contours of his own. She slipped away after a moment though. And after another moment he was pulled back to the duties of the day. She watched him before walking away from the cemetery. Harry couldn't read her expression as she moved.

Days flashed by again. He saw the calendar change once more. It wasn't until the New Year that she got a letter asking her to meet him for dinner. She smiled down at it. Harry saw her spend what he felt was an inordinate amount of time dressing. She picked a halter topped dark green dress with silver accents. Harry wondered if the color choice was intentional.

She then spent far too long on her hair and makeup. Eventually she left and walked a couple of blocks to a London restaurant. She was early, but he was already waiting for her at a table, his cane leaning against the chair. He stood when she entered and pulled out her chair for her as she sat.

It was awkward, Harry thought. They spent a few minutes chatting about nothing, how they were, the weather, nothing of importance. Martin drank from a low glass of clear liquid, a single olive floating in it. He had two before they even ordered food. Emily eyed him carefully, but didn't comment. She nursed a single glass of wine.

But eventually, as they started talking, it grew less so. He asked her about Japan and she talked and talked and talked. She grew more animated the more she spoke, smiling happily and discussing everything that she'd done while she was gone. She talked about the people she met, the places she saw, the items they found.

He thanked her again for the sword. It still hung in the living room of his house, he said. That led into how he was selling his house and planning on moving more into London proper to be closer to work. Emily asked him questions about properties he was looking at, but seemed to try to do everything in her power to avoid talking about his dead wife.

But eventually that topic came up too. Still, Martin didn't seem too put out when discussing it. Quite the contrary, he smiled happily at the memories and told Emily stories of their time together. She watched him carefully as he spoke, her expression remaining completely impassive through it.

They ended up sitting at the table for two hours after they'd finished eating. But eventually they did leave, heading to their separate homes with the promises of meeting again.

Harry watched as they did so. Time flashed by. She kept her routine the same. Except now, mixing between working at the shop and working on her own at spells, there were moments devoted to Martin.

During their second date they tried to talk about their jobs. Emily did her best to seem entertained about the general drama surrounding doing accounting for a broadcast company, but she failed. Martin laughed it off when it became clear she was losing interest. But she wasn't really able to keep his interest in antiques. She tried to describe a few of the items to him, but without their mystical properties.

Even Harry had to admit that without the magic, her job sounded dreadfully boring as well. He debated, while mostly not paying attention to Emily and Martin, just who had the duller job. Martin, he decided, had it far worse.

At some point the topics turned to politics and rationing and the burgeoning threat from the Soviets. Emily seemed about as interested in that as she had in accounting, but she managed to fake it mildly better than she had the first time.

After the third date he kissed her. She slipped from the kiss and gave him a coquettish smile before walking home with more of a skip in her step than Harry felt Lord Voldemort should be allowed to ever have.

The fourth date was supposed to just be a leisurely walk up the Thames, but it turned into them kissing on a bench until a police officer told them to go somewhere and do that in private. They ended up going to a coffee shop and not kissing any more.

The pattern continued for months. Harry lost track of the amount of times they met. Somewhere in there Martin asked her to come with him as he looked at properties. She obliged and gave her opinion on the small London houses they looked at.

Harry noticed that she had a much more positive opinion than Martin did. He seemed to only notice the work that needed to be done on ever building they looked at, whereas she seemed more focused on things like the view and the location and the internal setup.

Another year melted away, and as spring came by, Martin bought one of the properties. He'd chosen, with some help from Emily, a small Victorian three bedroom in a rather quaint part of London. Emily congratulated him when he told her and he asked if she wouldn't mind helping him move.

Days later Harry watched her hop up the steps and enter the empty house. Martin and the movers were just minutes behind her and they started to bring in furniture and boxes. Emily helped him figure out the best positioning for things. Harry noticed that Martin never argued with her about where anything should go.

He hung the stand he'd made for the sword she'd given him on a wall in the room where they'd started to bring in what must have been his home office. She arranged a few items on the desk, staring interestedly at the muggle typewriter for a moment. When he left to get more boxes she unsheathed the sword from the wall and examined it. Harry could tell she was checking on the magic on the blade, looking at it curiously as she performed many of the diagnostic spells he'd seen her use in the shop.

Harry wasn't sure what she was looking for. Mostly her expression just looked like one of general curiosity. When she was finished she swung it around rather clumsily, nearly hitting the desk with it, before she sheathed it with an embarrassed look and stepped out of the office.

Martin was in the kitchen, placing boxes of dishware on the counter and new kitchen table. He smiled at her when she entered the room.

"It's coming along nicely," he said. She nodded at him.

"Yes it is. How much is left at the other house?" she asked.

"One more trip and they think they'll have it all," he said.

"Good," Emily said. She walked over toward the kitchen table and cut open one of the boxes with a nearby pocket knife. She started to take out glasses, lining them up neatly on the table. Harry noticed that Martin stopped working and just watched her as she did.

"Well, what do you say?" he asked quietly. "Could you live here?"

"Sure. It's a very nice house," she said offhandedly, like she wasn't really listening to him. He saw Martin reach into his pocket and grab something. Harry blinked and realized he knew what was going to happen, and couldn't help but laugh that he realized it long before Emily did.

"That's not what I meant, Em," he said. She shot him a glare at the diminutive of her name.

"What did you mean then?" she asked. She turned to face him, her expression curious.

"Will you live here, with me," he said, seeming to struggle with the words. She arched her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's bad enough that I'm living alone in my twenties, Martin. Moving in with a widower would be scandalous," she said coolly.

"That's not what I meant," he said.

"What did you mean then?" she asked. He reached for his cane and took it before taking a few tender steps closer to her. He leaned the cane against the counter and held the small box open to her.

"I want you to live here as my wife," he said softly. "As Mrs. Price." Emily's eyes went wide. She stared down at the box. Harry walked through the counter to look at it as well. It was a thin gold band with a single small diamond on it. He tilted his head to the side and thought that he would have done better if given the opportunity. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the former soldier.

"Martin," Emily said softly, looking down at the ring. She frowned and looked up at him.

"I know it's not much but everything went into the house and I didn't want to give you my grandmother's because it was also….well I mean," he started speaking quicker and quicker, his cheeks flushing red as he spoke.

"Martin…." Emily said again, softly.

"And I mean I know I haven't really said it said it and I probably should have a while ago but I love you and I really want to be with you," Martin continued, uninterrupted.

"Martin," Emily said, more sternly.

"And I didn't just do this for you. I mean if you're freaking out that this was just some show of affection or something it wasn't I just realized when we were looking that I wished we were looking for us. And then I realized how much I wanted us to be a thing-" he showed no signs of stopping.

"I'm a witch!" she yelled, her voice straining. Martin paused and blinked at her.

"What?" he asked.

"I am a witch," she said slowly, pronouncing each word as clearly as she could.

"Like love potions, flying broomsticks and black cats?" he asked.

"Well I've never made a love potion, I suck at flying, and I always liked snakes more than cats, but, well, sure," she said. Martin blinked and then blushed more and looked away.

"This has to be the most absurd excuse someone ever used to avoid saying no," Martin said quietly.

"I didn't say no," Emily said. "I just needed you to know that."

"Witches don't exist, Emily," he responded, looking at her sadly. "It's alright though. I get it. Too soon. And all out of order on top of that. I just," he shrugged his shoulders and closed the lid on the box, placing it on the counter and leaning back on the cane.

"Martin," Emily frowned.

"It's alright," he said. She stared at him for a moment and then took a deep breath. She reached for her purse and withdrew her wand from it.

He watched her, looking rather confused, his eyes narrowing as they focused on her. She stepped into the living room and waved it once and every cabinet in the kitchen opened. Another flick and the boxes were unpacking themselves, the dishware flying to its new home. With another flick she transfigured the boxes into a place setting and candles and arranged them on the kitchen table. A third flick slid the couch a few inches and a fourth straightened a picture on the wall.

Harry watched Martin. He just froze. The older man stood there in the kitchen, his eyes darting past floating dishware. He tried to grab a glass out of midair but it dodged around his hand. After a few moments she lit the candles on the kitchen table and lowered her wand.

"I'm a witch," she said softly. "I couldn't tell you where my school was because it's a magic school. It was supposed to be a secret. I shouldn't even be telling you this now. It's illegal to tell you, except if, well…" Martin didn't say anything in response. He just stared at her for a couple of moments.

His expression changed as he stared at her, at first it was one of awe, and then confusion, before anger and finally fear. The fear lingered the longest on his face. He could tell, Harry thought, that she had powers that he couldn't possibly understand. And that she'd kept those powers from him. And then he, finally, he moved. He moved as quickly as his injured leg would allow. Emily opened her arms to him, as if she expected him to rush to her, to hug her, to hold her.

But he did none of those things. He turned and fled from the house.

Harry expected her to say something. He expected her to do something. To at least attempt something to keep Martin there so she could explain. But she didn't. She just let him leave.

As soon as the door slammed shut she fell to her knees in the center of the room. She summoned the velvet box to her and opened it, staring at the ring in the box with an unreadable expression on her face. Harry wondered how she managed to look happy and sad at the same time.

Eventually, and without rising, she finished unpacking the boxes. When the movers arrived again with their final load from Martin's old house she unpacked them as well. She seemed to focus on arranging the house as a distraction from life, as if going through the motions helped her. He wondered what she was thinking as she did it. Her expression never changed.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Acknowledgments: Spicee on the beta work.

Chapter 18

Harry watched as Emily arranged every item in the new house. She just moved from room to room to room and stared at them for a few moments, adjusting them by mere inches in some cases. When she finished, she started over. Harry watched the clock on the wall tick as she did. He wanted to move to her, to hug her, to do anything to make her feel better. But he knew that was entirely futile.

By seven she'd finished unpacking, vanishing the extra boxes, and arranging everything. She looked like she was going to start again, but instead she stared down at her stomach for a moment before gathering up her purse.

Harry watched her fumble around in it and take out a handful of coins, she counted them and frowned at the cabinets. She then stared at the door, as if afraid to leave. But eventually she did. She didn't have a key so she locked it with a flick of her wand. After that she apparated away.

Harry found himself popping into existence next to her as the world shifted to Diagon Alley. She stepped down one of the side streets to a small grocery store. She stepped inside and walked past the advertisements on the wall that talked to her, attempting to sell her certain fruits and vegetables.

She picked up a basket and started throwing items into it. As soon as the items entered the basket they shrank. She filled it to the brim with fruits, vegetables, some meats, bread, and a lot of standard condiments. When she checked out all of the items returned to normal size, before shrinking again as they were put into an enchanted paper bag. She had just enough money on her to complete the transaction.

She gathered up the bag and apparated straight out of the store with a loud pop. She didn't apparate straight back into the house, though. Harry thought that seemed a little odd. Instead she appeared into an alley around the corner. She tucked her wand behind her ear and walked with the bag of groceries to the door.

Harry didn't think it looked like anyone had been there in the time that she was gone. He couldn't have imagined it had taken her longer than an hour to do the shopping. She took a deep breath outside of the door and tried the handle. It was still locked. A flick of her wand unlocked it and she stepped inside. She dropped the groceries on the small kitchen table and took a minute to explore the house again to make sure that it was empty. Harry wondered why she chose to do it physically than with magic, but he supposed there was something like catharsis in walking through the room.

She took the groceries out and put them away physically as well. She spent a great deal of time determining which cabinet each item should go in, often pacing around the kitchen as if looking for something after she put it away. He half wondered just what her purpose for doing that was, but figured that she was just looking for where things fit the best.

Once she had everything put away, she started taking things back out. She put some rice in a pot with water and put it on the stove, before she started slicing some peppers and onions and then finally some beef.

Harry watched as she prepared the food, frying the beef slowly and eventually mixing it with the onions and peppers and some broccoli. She made a sauce of some kind that he didn't quite recognized and added that in as well. Eventually, she piled some of the rice onto a plate and then put the meat and vegetables on top. She applied soy sauce amply before summoning a fork from a drawer, sitting at the table, and eating slowly.

It took her a while to eat, and there were plenty of leftovers when she was done. She didn't bother cleaning up anything other than her plate after she finished, and even that she simply did with a flick of her wand.

Eventually she just paced the house more, spending quite a lot of time simply walking up and down the stairs. Harry frowned at her. He sat on the couch, despite the fact that it didn't really matter to him if he were sitting or standing in the memories, but the familiar position simply felt more comfortable.

Harry noticed the sun fully set in the front window, he saw streetlights pop on outside, and all the while Emily simply continued to pace. She went to one of the bookcases in what was set up to be Martin's office and just made a face at the books. Out of curiosity he floated over to the shelf to see what put her off.

Just reading the titles gave him a headache. He could certainly understand why she was uninterested in tax formulas and cost assessments. He wandered back to a chair in the living room and wondered what was about to happen.

Emily eventually grew bored and sat on the couch. She put her legs, up, smoothing her skirt down over them, before shifting onto her side, resting on her head on a pillow on the headrest. She fidgeted around for a few minutes to try to get comfortable before she seemed to drift off to sleep.

The memory flashed forward to the sound of a key in the lock at the front door. Emily sat bolt upright, moving her hair out of her face and looking toward it. There was only one lamp on in the living room. She stared at the door, chewing on her bottom lip in the darkness, looking both hopeful and afraid.

Martin Price limped into the room, placing his keys down on the kitchen counter, before turning to the living room and looking at her.

"You're still here," Martin said. He stared at her as she tucked her legs beneath her on the couch. Harry saw she was holding the small velvet box in her hands, rotating it around slowly as she stared back.

"Should I have left?" she asked. Martin leaned on his cane and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know," he said. He looked around the kitchen. "Did you go shopping?"

"Yes," Emily said.

"And make dinner?" he stared at the uncleaned dishes in the kitchen.

"Yes," Emily responded.

"What did you make?" he asked, eyeing it carefully.

"My take on bulgogi. I suppose it was more of a pepper steak, but well, it wasn't that good," she said.

"Is it still warm?" he asked.

"I would doubt it," Emily said. "But I can fix that."

"Oh you don't have to get up," he said, shifting toward the kitchen.

"You're right. I don't," she responded. She took a deep breath before taking her wand and waved it in the direction of the kitchen. A few moments later of steaming plate of rice and beef landed on the table. Martin stared at her again, swallowing hard, before turning toward the food as a glass of water and silverware landed next to the plate.

"That's going to take some getting used to," he said. He sat at the head of the table, where she'd dropped the food, and stared at it. Harry watched him pause and could almost hear his thoughts, wondering if he should even eat the food. Emily stood and moved to the table as well. She placed her wand down on the table as she sat to his side but kept the box in her hand. "That was what I thought, too," Emily said.

"When did you find out?" he said.

"One summer when I was eleven. One of the professors at the school I went to, it's called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-"

"Weird name," Martin interrupted. Emily smiled weakly.

"It is," she said waving her hand airily at the interruption. "Anyway, he came to the orphanage where I grew up and explained what I was and what magic was and I started school there that autumn. It was seven years. I finished in the summer of forty-five."

"I see," Martin said. He carefully stabbed a piece of beef before filling the fork with rice and eating it. After eating another fork full he looked at her, his expression hardening as he did.

"And they're not always the most in tune with what's going on in the Muggle world. Muggles are what we call non magic people. But anyway…" she let her voice trail off.

"You weren't making it up," he said softly.

"What?" Emily asked, looking puzzled.

"When we drove to London and I made you talk about your favorite classes," he said, pausing to take a drink of water. "I don't remember exactly what you said but I'm willing to bet you weren't making it up like I assumed at the time."

"Oh," Emily nodded, understanding flashing over her face. "No, I wasn't making that up."

"Why be honest?" he asked quietly. "If it's supposed to be a big secret."

"I assumed you'd think I was making it up," Emily said. "And I really wanted to talk about it with someone. It was so hard to not be able to work with magic every summer."

"That's not nice," he responded.

"I know," she said, looking away from him. "Sorry."

"And you killed the Riddle family," he said. Her eyes shot back up at him and Harry thought she looked rather terrified. Harry thought for sure she would deny it. But she didn't.

"I did," she said softly. He put the fork down and focused entirely on her.

"Why?" he asked.

"Self-defense," she said. "But I don't really know the whole story, I don't think."

"What do you know?" he asked

"The son was my father," she said. "My mother ran off with him. He claimed she bewitched him. He and his father tried to kill me and I fought back."

"That explains the bullet holes in the guest room and none on the bodies. I assume you used magic?" Martin paused as he said it, as if the words felt wrong in his mouth. "And could you bewitch them?"

"I did," she said. "And I could, sure. But that isn't really fair question."

"How so?" he asked.

"Well I can do a lot of things. So can you. So can anyone. That doesn't mean you do them," she said, she waved her hand as if she wasn't able to articulate her point fully.

"I understand what you're saying," he said.

"What don't you know?" he asked.

"Well I don't know if my mother did bewitch him. Or really what caused them to run off together and how that turned into me," she said. After a pause she added. "I don't want to know, really. And I didn't want to have to do that. I kept saying I would just leave. But they didn't let me."

"I know you didn't want to do that," he said quietly as he resumed eating the food.

"How?" she asked.

"You showed up randomly in the barn caked in mud and vomit and were pulling aimlessly on twigs in the grill of a jeep. Billings had been there for an hour before and you hadn't seen him, and you were obviously jittery and worked up," he said. "It was clear something was bothering you. You were honestly barely coherent."

"Oh," Emily said quietly.

"I think I always knew," Martin said. "But there was no way to prove it."

"Are you going to have me arrested?" Emily asked. Martin seemed to think about that for a few moments before shaking his head.

"No," he said.

"Thanks," she responded.

"So how much of it is a lie?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, first, antiques?"

"Well I mean I do work at selling and acquiring objects of magical value. They're often old enchanted things. We specialize on artifacts that have some type of an enchanted effect. Even the sword I got you is enchanted," she said.

"Really?" he asked. "How?"

"It has a permanently sharp spell on it. As well as a type of restorative charm I'm not familiar with. I think it likely some type of self-repair mechanism on the blade," Emily said. "Are you saying it's indestructible?" Martin asked.

"Well no," Emily said. "To do that to an object requires a great deal of power and is very difficult. We don't encounter a lot of things that are indestructible. Mostly people tend to hang onto them if they have them. It's one of the hardest spells I've ever heard of to enchant something to be permanently unbreakable. The spell on it seems to be more to repair nicks on the blade from what I can gather. I'd have to observe it in action to know for sure, but I would think you could still break it."

"I see," Martin said. "And you?"

"I think I could probably enchant it to be indestructible, yes. But I've never tried to. But I'm sort of better at magic than most people," Emily said quietly. She blushed and looked away. To Harry's surprise, Martin smiled.

"I meant how much of you is a lie," he said.

"I'm still me," she said. "Just I can cast spells. I haven't really lied about me at all."

"Except that you're a witch," Martin said.

"Except that," Emily affirmed. Martin was quiet then. He took a couple more forks of food before gazing back at her.

"Could you have saved Margaret?" he asked quietly, his voice little more than a whisper. Emily stared back at him. Harry thought she looked utterly speechless as she stared back at him.

"Martin I wasn't in the country. I wasn't even aware that she was ill past your letters that the pregnancy was hard on her," Emily said. Martin didn't take his gaze off of her.

"I know you were not around, Emily. That wasn't the question I asked," he said.

"I don't know," Emily said. "I think probably not."

"You don't know?" Martin asked.

"Well, no. I mean I don't know exactly what was wrong with her. You can't just wave a wand and heal anything. You have to understand what is going on with the patient to be able to fix it, as it were. And I'm not a healer. I've only recently started to even looking into that field of magic. Could someone have, well, saved her, with magic? I think probably. Could I have done it myself? I think probably not," Emily explained.

"So there's a secret society," he said, his voice growing angry, "That could have saved her. That could save people. That could help. And you do nothing?"

"It's not that easy, Martin," Emily frowned.

"Bullshit," he said. "It's basic human decency to help someone in need."

"Should we be swarmed all day fixing your problems?" Emily snapped back.

"What?" Martin blinked, looking surprised by her vehemence.

"That's the crux of the argument," Emily said. "Just because I can do things does that mean I should? Witches die too, Martin. Sometimes even in childbirth. We can't fix everything. And just because we have some ability doesn't mean we should be subservient to everyone who doesn't! More than likely it should be the other way around. And the last time you tried to burn us alive!" There was an awkward pause once she finished speaking. Martin kept his eyes focused on her for a few moments before he replied.

"Thank you for your honesty," Martin said quietly. He looked back at his food, but all he was doing not was moving it around the plate with the fork. The brief anger he'd shown before seemed to evaporate out of him.

"I really am sorry about her," Emily said, her own shoulders slouching. "You sounded so happy in your letters. I was so happy for you."

"I was happy," Martin said quietly. "And then I got so low. I didn't know what to do with myself. And I stayed that way for a very long time. Until, well," he let his voice trail off.

"Until what?" Emily asked quietly. When Martin spoke, he changed the subject.

"Do you know why I came back?" he asked.

"Well it is your house," Emily responded.

"Well true, but that had little to do with it," Martin said. "Although I suppose I would have had to come back eventually."

"So where did you go?" Emily asked.

"I just walked for a while and then stopped into a pub," Martin said dismissively. "It gave me an awful long time to think. And, well, I'll ask again. Do you know why I came back?"

"I have no idea, Martin," Emily said quietly.

"Because you didn't say no," he said softly. Harry watched as Emily took a very deep, shaky breath and stared down at the box in her hand.

"I did not," she admitted.

"You also didn't say yes," he said.

"I did not," she nodded again.

"Well, and forgive me if this is imprudent, but which is it?" he asked softly.

"It's complicated," she said.

"Because you're a witch?" he asked.

"Yes. But I'm also barren," she responded, looking down at herself.

"Because you're a witch?" he asked again, sounding confused.

"No," she actually laughed and shook her head. "Because I was cursed by a stupid Nazi at the end of the war."

"A Nazi witch?" Martin blinked in surprise.

"Wizard. And I don't think he was really a Nazi. I think he just saw a way to benefit from their platform. Or maybe he started it. I don't know. It's hard to say."

"How would he benefit from Nazism," Martin asked. "And how did you wind up cursed by him."

"Well, uhm, let's just say that the Holocaust was even worse than you imagine. And that I'll tell you about it sometime if you really want to know. The short story is that I helped fight him at the end of the war and was cursed then." she said softly.

"And he cursed you to be barren?" Martin asked. "That seems oddly specific and ineffective in a fight."

"He hit me in the lower stomach with some type of curse that had various affects on me," Emily said, looking away from him. "Whether that was intended or not. I don't know. But I haven't had a cycle since."

Martin seemed to get the hint that she wasn't interested in talking about that for any longer than she had to. He put the fork down on the plate.

"You were an orphan," he said.

"Am," she countered. He pressed his lips tightly together.

"Well, I'm just saying that I would be more than willing to adopt, Emily. If we decided at some point we wanted kids," he responded. Harry noticed his words seemed to falter over the 'we' in that sentence, as if he was putting faith in the word.

"Are you sure?" she asked. Martin nodded.

"Yes," he said. "A small price for spending my life with you, Emily Riddle."

"Not for much longer," she said, smiling at him as she slipped the ring from the box and slid it onto her left ring finger.

"I do like the way Emily Price sounds," Martin said softly, staring at the ring on her hand.

"Me too," she said and then stood. "Now let me get this cleaned up for you." And she cleaned the plate in front of him with a flick of her wand and floated it back into a cabinet. Martin almost jumped as she did.

"You're going to have to talk more about that," he said.

"We have all night," she smiled warmly, her dimple on prime display as her eyes lit up.

"And more," Martin nodded.

"And more," Emily agreed.

Harry watched as the memories flashed forward then. He saw her sit with her on the couch, he held her in one hand, and her wand in the other as they talked. He attempted to cast spells to no avail with some laughter. At the end of the night he carried her, as she giggled, to the master bedroom.

Harry watched days flash by then. He saw Martin introduce her to his parents. They seemed a bit skeptical at first, but she charmed them quickly with conversation and smiles and, Harry suspected, the loving gaze she reserved for their son.

He saw them look at venues, pick out a date, and review thousands of little details. Emily didn't seem to be picky about anything. She didn't make decisions instantly but was pretty easy to work with from Harry's point of view.

He watched her meet with girls he recognized from her time at Hogwarts. One of them appeared to be a couple of months pregnant, all of them had rings on their left hands. They made comments expression shock that Emily was finally getting married, and to a muggle no less! But they helped her pick out a dress all the same.

It took all day. But after a fair bit of wand waving and resizing, Emily left with a white garment bag and treated the other girls to dinner before returning to her apartment. Harry watched as she returned to her apartment. She started to pack up while she was there. It didn't take her very long to do it. She mostly just kept books and clothing and magical supplies and vanished everything else.

She moved it all in without much fanfare, keeping cauldrons and books shrunk and out of the way as Martin often had coworkers and clients over. She had a slightly pained expression as she unpacked, but it vanished as soon as she started dinner.

Harry watched the routine continue for two months, the memories flashing around him as he did. Eventually they slowed and he rejoined Emily in the back room of a church. She stood, wearing a full topped white dress that seemed to float around her as she stood. She poked at her hair gently, as if it displeased her. It was done up in an elaborate curled bun.

She paused for a moment, staring into the mirror before taking a very deep breath and putting on a thin veil, letting the gauzy white fabric obscure her vision. Harry heard music coming from the other room. He watched as Emily took a deep breath and then turned to the doorway.

But his watching was interrupted by a loud banging on the attic door. The hippogriff, Buckbeak spat at it and then glared at Harry, but didn't bother getting up from his straw bed.

"We know you're in there, Harry! Come out!" Ginny Weasley's voice rang through the attic. Harry yawned and looked down at the diary in his hands. He debated ignoring Ginny, but figured she was sent up for a reason. He assumed they would send someone more willing to drag him out of the attic.

"Fine," he said, stepping down from the attic, holding the diary in his left hand as he stepped out.

"Moody, Dad and Sirius want to talk to you in the kitchen," she said.

"Oh good," Harry said, thinking that would be anything but. "No Dumbledore?"

"He hasn't been at Headquarters at all. They claim he's got his hands full with Umbridge and letting us all leave early after what happened with Dad," Ginny said.

"He's doing alright?" Harry asked.

"Oh yeah he was fine pretty much the day after you left," Ginny said. "No signs of poison left in his system."

"Good," Harry said.

"What's that?" Ginny asked, peering around him toward the diary he held.

"Nothing," Harry snapped quickly. He moved the diary to his other side, trying to block her view of it with his body.

"It looks familiar," she said, peering around him.

"It's just a book," he said.

"It looks really a lot like you-know-who's diary," Ginny said. Harry just kept the book away from her.

"That book was stabbed by a basilisk fang, Ginny," Harry said.

"Still, Harry. I mean that's like the same book," she said. For a moment her eyes widened and she stared at it. Harry felt his heart sink. Ginny probably didn't have that great of memories of that diary. He wondered, briefly, just what lasting damage it might have done to her.

"It isn't the same book," Harry lied, looking away from her. Somehow knowing that that little gesture gave him away.

"Let me see it then," she said, stepping sprightly around him. He managed to shift it into his other hand before she got to it.

"No," he said.

"Oh come on Harry," she scoffed.

"No, Ginny," he said. She pouted and made another play for it but he held it out of her reach as he turned toward the stairs and saw Ron standing there. He was wearing a blaze orange Chudley Cannon's warmup jacket.

"Mate!" He yelled when he saw Harry and Ginny. He immediately put himself between Harry and his sister. "I never got to thank you for the Christmas gift."

"What?" Harry blinked. He hadn't gotten Ron a Christmas gift. It had completely slipped his mind.

"He hasn't taken it off since Christmas morning," Ginny rolled her eyes, nodding toward the orange jacket.

"It's officially licensed!" Ron said. "Must have cost way too much. Makes me feel like I'm actually on the Cannons!"

"I'm glad you like it," Harry said, looking away from Ron as they moved down the stairs. If he was honest he didn't care about if Ron was enjoying a jacket or not. The mention of Christmas presents simply made him wonder about what had happened to the ones left in the Malfoy's Chicago home. It infuriated him to think of Draco Malfoy getting his hands on them.

He wondered if there'd be a way to prevent that. His muscles tensed as he thought of Draco playing with the stone guardian dog. He pressed his teeth together as he stepped down the stairs.

"You okay, Mate?" Ron asked. Harry snapped himself back into reality and realized they were almost to the kitchen.

"Fine, why?" he asked.

"Well for a moment I thought you were sort of glowing green," Ron said. "But it must have been a trick of the light."

"Must have been," Harry said quietly.

"I thought I saw it too," Ginny said. "Just out of the corner of my eye."

"Weird," Harry said. "Anyway, what did I miss I zoned out there."

"Nothing. Was just saying that Hermione will doubtless want to thank you for the books, too. She hasn't taken her nose out of them since Christmas. Well, at least for longer than to wonder aloud where you got texts that were entirely about the theory of dark magic."

"A book store," Harry said.

"She claims they're out of print and banned," Ron responded. Harry realized he walked right into that one, but he just shrugged and smiled as they entered the kitchen.

"Where were you, boy?" Moody growled as soon as he entered. Harry immediately felt something probe into his head. Whoever it was, they were incredibly less subtle than Emily. He thought, for a moment, that he heard her whispering in his head to think. So he thought nonsense and looked away from everyone in the room.

"I'm pretty sure you already know that," Harry said. He stepped around Mrs. Weasley and moved to the stove in the kitchen. He found some eggs and started to scramble them.

"I can do that, Harry," Molly Weasley said. Harry shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Harry we want to talk to you," Sirius said.

"You can talk while I make myself some eggs. It's not that difficult to talk," Harry said.

"I would prefer if you were looking at me while we did," Sirius said.

"Seems excessive," Harry said.

"Boy," Moody said. Arthur Weasley held up a hand to silence him.

"Harry talk to us," Sirius said.

"About what?" Harry asked as he whisked the eggs. It only took him a few moments to finish them. He found a plate, figuring it would be best to not use his wand to summon one in that particular moment. He put the eggs on the plate, salted them, and sat at the table. He could feel everyone's eyes on him but he ignored them.

"Tell us where you were, Harry," Sirius said. Again, he felt someone trying to probe him. He shoved eggs into his mouth as he looked away.

"Stop trying to read my mind," he said.

"What?" Ron said, eyes flashing around the room.

"Harry! That's a serious accusation!" Molly responded.

"Tell that to them," Harry said, inclining his head toward Arthur, Sirius, and Moody.

"Harry we need to know what happened when you were gone," Arthur said.

"I went on vacation," Harry said.

"To Chicago?" Arthur said.

"Yes," Harry said.

"How did you get there?" Sirius asked.

"Portkey," Harry responded. He focused on his eggs as he waited for them to respond.

"An international portkey is incredibly expensive," Moody said.

"Well they should be," Harry said. "Not too expensive for Snape to kidnap me back with one, though."

"Dumbledore went to great pains for that, Harry," Arthur said.

"And I suppose I should be grateful for that," Harry said.

"Harry," Sirius said gravely. "I know when I was your age I would have considered doing the same thing. It would have been some harmless fun. But Snape said he would have sworn that he saw You-Know-Who on the same street as you."

"Oh I'm sure he did," Harry said, rolling his eyes as he finished his eggs. Molly Weasley took the plate from him almost as soon as he finished.

"Harry that isn't something to be flippant about!" Sirius yelled.

"Oh who's being flippant?" Harry asked, flippantly. "I'm sure that Severus Snape saw his master on Rush Street when he abducted me against my will. That just makes perfect sense. I'm sure he spent hours surveying the entire street to make sure everything was kosher and didn't just grab me and portkey away."

"Harry," Arthur said. "What you did is seriously dangerous."

"I feel like forced international travel is probably more dangerous than walking down a street in Chicago. But I could be wrong," Harry said. "My testing was inconclusive. Now if you'll let me go back to Rush Street I will make sure I walk up and down it enough to accurately assess the dangers."

"Harry you need to let that go," Molly said. "We just want you to be safe."

"While ignoring what I want. We've had this conversation before," Harry said.

"Boy she is going to try to kill you," Moody growled.

"Why?" Harry asked. There was silence in the room after he spoke.

"Because you represent a weakness and her failure," Sirius said. "In Azkaban they mutter about killing you to gain her favor. You're the one that got away, as it were. You will always be able to challenge her as long as you're alive. She's already tried to kill you multiple times."

"I think she has more pressing concerns than that," Harry said. "As you said a lot of her support is in Azkaban."

"And it's probably only a matter of time before she gets them out," Sirius said.

"Wouldn't that be to our advantage?" Harry asked.

"How would that help us?" Moody actually laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. If Harry was honest, it was actually frightening.

"Well it would force the ministry to acknowledge that something was going on," Harry said. "She seems to be going to great pains to stay dead, as it were, and springing Death Eaters seems to be a gigantic clue that she's, you know, not dead."

"That's speculative at best," Sirius said.

"Isn't that the nature of the game?" Harry asked.

"It's not a game," Moody growled.

"And I don't think she wants to kill me. And if she does want to, well, that isn't going to be her reasoning," Harry said.

"Because you know the mind of a Dark Witch," Moody growled. Harry wanted to comment that he knew more about Voldemort than every person in that room combined, but Molly spoke before he could.

"Well then why would she be in Chicago, Harry?" Molly asked, her voice was growing a little shrill but Harry ignored that aspect of it.

"I would imagine she was looking for dinner. Plenty of restaurants you know," Harry answered.

"Enough of this," Moody said. He flashed his wand over the table and thrust it directly at Harry.

Harry felt like he'd been hit by a car. The force of the magic flew into him, but he managed to keep himself stable in the chair. All-in-all, Mad-Eye's spell was not stronger than the unformed shockwave that Emily had hit him with. Harry actually thought he'd cast more powerful magic in his brief duels with her.

But that didn't prevent the spell from working. He felt Moody push into his mind and he didn't really know how to fight him out. He saw images flash around, he felt Moody pushing through. At first, he saw memories, but they weren't his memories, they were Emily's memories. Harry tried to use them as a shield, but Moody ripped them aside and tried to force Harry to think back.

It worked, too. Harry felt the memories flash to the front. He saw her, sitting across from him at _Le Colonial,_ forcing rice into her mouth. He saw her swivel on a bar stool, her face flushed with drink, as she plopped a jalapeno onto a chicken and cheese covered chip. He saw her smiling as Scrooge wound up true to his word and Tiny Tim did not die, the dark light of the theater blocking part of her face as he gazed over at her.

Harry fought as much as he could. But he didn't know how to. He had no idea what to do. Yet it felt familiar. He remembered something like this. Something from in his past. Something from when he fought Grindelwald. He blinked. He never fought Grindelwald, but those images still flashed before him. But it wasn't him. It was Emily. When Emily fought Grindelwald. The images were flashing through his head faster than he could make sense of them.

What had she done though? He didn't know. She'd just somehow managed to reflect it. She'd said it went both ways? Harry focused his mind. He tried to look for anything in his head. A path out, he thought it would seem like a path out. He growled and tried to force his way back toward Moody, but he wasn't the one who broke the spell.

"Enough Mad-Eye!" Arthur yelled, but Moody didn't relent. Instead the images just flashed faster and faster.

"Stupefy!" Sirius yelled and Harry felt a pressure in his head he wasn't even fully aware of vanish. He panted in the chair, anger welling up in him. He wanted to attack Moody, to get revenge for his insolence.

"What were you thinking Alastor!" Arthur yelled, he tried to rise from his chair but Molly forced him back down, muttering about how he was still recovering. Arthur glared at her but didn't force the issue. Sirius stood over him, holding his wand on him.

"That was uncalled for!" Sirius yelled. Moody choked and coughed. Harry reached for his wand and stood up as well, intending to move over toward Moody, but Ron put an arm out.

"Wait," he said quietly.

"I'm going to curse him for that," Harry responded.

"No," Ron said. "That will just cause more trouble and put all three of them against you again."

"What?" Harry asked.

"They were ganging up on you but obviously didn't agree on the methods, Harry. Don't have it go right back to three on one again. You really needed to grow up with more brothers," Ron laughed.

"Oh sure, remind me of that," Harry snapped.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said.

"What are you doing?!" Sirius yelled as Moody pulled himself into a seated positon. His fake eye whirled and locked on Harry, but his real eye focused on Sirius.

"She has her claws in him," Moody spat.

"What?" Sirius asked.

"He was with her," Moody said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked.

"That's absurd," Molly said.

"Harry would never do that," Sirius said. "She killed Lily and James and you're saying he gallivanted off with her?"

"I don't know how it happened," Moody growled. "But he was in Chicago with her."

"No chance," Sirius said.

"Harry would never," Molly stated, sounding affronted at the mere thought.

"Ask him," Moody said, pulling himself back into his chair. He took a moment to check on his fake leg, adjusting it as he sat, before turning both his eyes on Harry. Every other eye in the room followed his.

"Harry?" Sirius asked. He turned to face him.

"What?" Harry said, still holding his wand as he looked around the kitchen.

"Did you meet You-Know-Who in Chicago?" Sirius asked.

"No," Harry said carefully, thinking that he wasn't fibbing.

"Wrong question, Sirius," Moody growled. Harry flinched. He should have known that the former Auror had investigative abilities. Everyone in the room noticed that he flinched.

"Oh no. Harry," Molly said softly.

"What?" Ron said in disbelief as it clicked into place with him as well.

"How?" Ginny gasped.

"Well it means I was right," Harry said.

"About what?" Sirius asked. Harry could feel the anger building from his godfather. Really, from everyone else in the room. He stood defensively in the middle of the room, appraising everyone else there. Arthur and Molly stood near each other, both looking rather frightened. Sirius just looked angry to their right, and Moody had his wand drawn to their left. Ginny and Ron backed into the corner, both just looking wide eyed and concerned.

"Well I spent ten days with her and she didn't once attempt to kill me," Harry said trying to sound as smug as he possibly could. He wanted to add something about how she did get him black-out drunk and might have given him a concussion, but there was a loud commotion from everyone in the rooms speaking at once and that drowned out his thoughts.

"That's so reckless, Harry!" Arthur yelled.

"She could have killed you!" Molly yelled.

"Why would you do that?" Sirius asked.

"Because I didn't want to be here," Harry said. "And that was the first out I could find."

"How did you find her?" Moody growled. "We can't ever find her."

"She found me," Harry lied quickly. "Outside of St. Mungo's."

"Boy if you know where she is," Moody growled.

"I don't," Harry snapped.

"Harry if you have any clue as to where she might be Dumbledore could use that. We need to find a way to strike at her before she gains power," Sirius said.

"You didn't want to be here?" Molly said quietly. Harry barely heard her. He turned to gaze at her and she just looked sad.

"I've said that," Harry said. "I don't like being sequestered inside."

"But you're safe here," she said sadly.

"I swear to God I am going to curse the next person that tells me they're doing something for my safety or that I'm safe somewhere," Harry said. "I think I've proven that I'm perfectly safe regardless."

"That's absurd, Harry," Arthur Weasley said.

"She could be trying to lure you in to strike when you least expect it," Ron said.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "She could have taken me on vacation to Chicago, bought me presents, cooked for me, practiced magic with me, helped me with my winter assignments, showed me how to duel, took me to a play, took me out for the holiday, just to kill me later."

"For all you know," Ron said, looking like he didn't believe it.

"She's not going to try to kill me," Harry said. "She had plenty of opportunities to do it without putting forth much effort."

"Harry what did she do to you," Sirius asked quietly.

"Nothing," Harry said.

"You would rather be with You-Know-Who than us?" Molly Weasley asked.

"She at least gave me a choice," Harry said.

"She has him," Moody said. "He sounds like a Death Eater."

"No he doesn't, Alastor," Arthur said. "He sounds like a young man in an impossible situation. You're jumping at shadows."

"He spent how long with her?" Moody snapped. "And she did nothing to him? I'd be willing to bet he's under the Imperius curse."

"I'm not," Harry said.

"You wouldn't be able to tell until it cleared," Moody growled.

"I cast it on her once," Harry said dryly. "But she did not cast it on me."

"Badass," Ron said from the corner.

"Ronald," Molly snapped at him.

"That is illegal," Moody snapped.

"Alastor," Sirius said softly. "Even if it's true you're not going to send Harry to Azkaban."

"She told me to, anyway," Harry said.

"Why would she possibly want you to do that," Arthur asked.

"We were discussing dark magical theory, she felt it was better for me to experience using the spell than to just talk about it," Harry said.

"That is amazingly reckless," Moody said.

"Well I thought it was enlightening," Harry said.

"Harry you should never cast spells like that," Sirius said. "They leave a lasting mark."

"I gathered that for myself," Harry said.

"It's worse than we thought," Moody said. "We need to have Dumbledore see him."

"You know he doesn't want that," Arthur said.

"He spent nearly two weeks with Lord Voldemort," Moody growled, the other adults in the room flinched from the name. "We aren't capable of discovering what she did to him without his help."

"I'll give you a hint what she did. She treated me like an adult." Harry responded.

"He has her diary," Ginny said from the corner, interrupting Moody's response to Harry's flippant commentary. "The same one that possessed me in my first year."

"Accio," Moody said, pointing it at the book. Harry grabbed it out of the air and fought the magic, pulling it back to him,

"That's mine," he barked.

"Give me the book, boy," Moody spat.

"No," Harry said. "It was a gift."

"Harry that book is evil," Ginny said. He thought she sounded afraid of it as she stared at him. He looked back toward her and realized that she probably was quite frightened of the artifact.

"Whatever enchantment was on the diary before is gone now," Harry said.

"Then let me look at it," Moody said.

"No," Harry said. "It's mine."

"Harry I think you should let Alastor take a look at that book," Arthur Weasley said softly. He eyed the diary in Harry's hands but made no move toward it.

"No," Harry said sternly.

"Harry you have no idea what she is capable of," Sirius said.

"I know you think she's possessing me," Harry said. He let his eyes slide between all of the adults in the room. "Not that anyone would tell me that to my face."

"That's not fair, Harry," Arthur said.

"I agree," Harry responded. "Heaven forbid someone actually tells me if I'm in danger. Easier to just shove me into a hole and wait until the danger finds me."

"Harry we didn't think that was something you needed to worry about. It was just a chance. You should focus on your schoolwork," Molly said.

"Don't lump me in with that," Sirius said. "I wanted to teach him how to properly defend himself. Now I'm hearing the first person to give him dueling lessons is Lord Fucking Voldemort?" Everyone in the room except for Harry flinched from the name. Harry could hear the anger his godfather's voice. And he couldn't help but smile.

"We've been over this, he is not James!" Molly yelled.

"No," Sirius said calmly. "He's so much closer to Lily it's almost painful. James would have tried cursing us and running away again by now. Instead he's explaining himself calmly and expressing his intense dissatisfaction with us in a way much kinder than I would have expected. James would be okay with being kept in the dark if the truth didn't amuse him. Lily would find out what it was regardless. And Lily would have empathy for it, too."

"Sirius," Arthur said. "He's still just a boy."

"A boy that is acting much more like an adult than any of us are giving him credit for," Sirius said. "And one that we've kept purposefully in the dark for far too long."

"Sirius, Dumbledore ordered you to not tell him," Moody growled.

"I'm doing it anyway," Sirius said.

"Black, I'm warning you," Moody growled.

"You don't have to tell me," Harry sighed. "I already know that Dumbledore thinks she's trying to kill me because of a prophecy made about the two of us."

"What?" Ron said in disbelief.

"How did you know that?" Sirius asked.

"She told me when I met her over the summer," Harry said.

"What?" Molly shrieked.

"When I snuck away after my trial it was to meet her in a park. She swore no harm would come to me and it didn't. She explained then about the prophecy and that she did not send the dementors after me. She wanted me to understand that. She seemed to think that was important," Harry explained. "I'd like to point out that that is another point where she could have tried to kill me and didn't."

"So you know you have to fight her," Sirius said.

"She believes the prophecy was already fulfilled," Harry said. "As she put it she spent fourteen years vanquished. Unless the prophecy says I'll have to defeat her twice. Which, frankly, if I were to fight her now I don't think I'd last thirty seconds. She showed me some dueling tricks in Chicago and managed to fight me off without even using her wand."

There was silence in the room after Harry spoke. None of the adults seemed to know exactly what to do or how to handle the situation. It was only interrupted by Hermione Granger rushing into the room.

"Harry!" she yelled, running toward him and hugging him while he sat at the table. He hugged her back as best he could, not letting the diary out of his grasp as he did. "I only just found out you were back. Thank you so much for the books they're fascinating!"

"Good to see you, too, Hermione," Harry laughed.

"We need to speak to Dumbledore," Moody growled. "He will know how to proceed better than any of us. Sirius come with me." Harry noticed that sounded far more like an order than anything else Moody had said before. Sirius stood and waited for Moody to do the same.

"You are probably right," Arthur said as Moody hauled himself out of his chair and clambered from the kitchen. Harry watched them go.

"What was all this about?" Hermione asked as she looked around the room.

"They were interrogating Harry," Ron responded.

"Oh so I missed where he was?" Hermione pouted.

"I'll tell you later," Harry said.

"Harry, you need to swear to us that you will not leave again," Arthur said.

"Term is in what, two days?" Harry said. "Don't touch my book and I'll be good."

"Harry," Arthur said, eyeing the diary.

"It's harmless, Mr. Weasley," Harry said. "Trust me."

"I wish I could believe you, Harry," Arthur said sadly. "But I'll leave it between you and Dumbledore."

"Thank you," Harry said. Arthur just nodded. He also stood, claiming he needed to be at work, and left.

Moments later found Harry recounting the tale to Hermione as they moved up toward the bedroom he shared with Ron. Mrs. Weasley had kept Ginny back in the kitchen, claiming she needed help with something. They'd been able to hear Ginny arguing all the way until they entered the room.

"Harry that book seems incredibly dangerous," Hermione said as he finished the story. "Can I see it?"

"Promise you'll give it back?" he asked, holding it away from her. Hermione looked like she'd consent to just about anything to see inside the cover.

"Yes," she said and he handed it to her. She opened it carefully and paged through it.

"It's empty," she said. Ron peered over her shoulder.

"So what does it do?" he asked.

"It shows me the past," Harry said.

"How?" Hermione asked.

"Well when I stare at it long enough it just starts to happen, more or less," Harry said. "I figured out how to fast forward and rewind once in it. It's fascinating really, I wind up watching it like a sort of three dimensional movie."

"So it's like a penseive," Hermione said, staring at the first page, running her hand over the parchment carefully.

"Does it show any history?" Ron asked.

"No it just shows me Emily's," Harry said.

"Emily's?" Ron asked, his brows raised. Harry knew what question he was asking.

"Well it's easier to say than Lord Voldemort," Harry responded. Ron winced at the name.

"You-Know-Who," he corrected.

"Emily," Harry nodded, mostly to just screw with his friend who still seemed a bit perturbed by that.

"That's sounds so wrong," Ron said. "What does she do anyway? Create chaos and murder people?"

"No," Harry sighed. "She actually has a pretty boring life. She spent a few years in Japan and that was fairly interesting. Oh and she dueled Grindelwald."

"Dumbledore dueled Grindelwald," Ron said knowingly.

"And before that she fought him. He kind of owned her, though," Harry said.

"You sound almost disappointed," Ron laughed. "How can a Dark Lord's life be boring?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "It's just what you'd expect. She works, she eats, she studies. She just got engaged to a Muggle."

"You made that last bit up," Ron said.

"Nope, his name is Martin. It's just been chronological. I'm in like the late forties or early fifties," Harry said.

"It has to be a lie, there's no way You-Know-Who got engaged to a Muggle," Ron said.

"Well she did," Harry responded. Ron raised his eyebrows and looked down at the book and then up at Hermione.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked. Harry blinked and looked over at Hermione. She had a bit of a glazed expression and was staring at the first page of the book.

"Oh, I'll go get her," he said. He also stared at the page and after a moment he found himself departing a train. He heard a young Lieutenant Price telling Emily to make for the Bennett's in the town with the other refugees. He saw Hermione staring around in awe. He grabbed her and pulled her out of the memory.

"That was World War Two England!" Hermione said. "And that girl, that was _her?!"_

"Yes," Harry said. "I was just telling Ron, it shows her past. All of it."

"All of it?" Ron asked. "Everything? Like everything, everything?"

"Yes," Harry blushed, knowing full well what Ron was getting at. Thankfully Hermione wasn't paying attention. She was instead focused on the diary in his hands.

"Harry I want to borrow this book," she said.

"Maybe when I'm done with it," Harry said.

"Please Harry it's an incredible opportunity to look back through history," Hermione said excitedly.

"A moment ago you thought it was dangerous," Harry said. Hermione frowned at him.

"Well it still probably can be but," she narrowed her eyes at him. "Does it follow her through school?"

"Yes," Harry said. "It sort of speeds up at parts though, you see a lot of things at once."

"So you already sat through lectures. That's how you were doing your homework!" Hermione yelled.

"Uhm," Harry said. "I hadn't thought about that. It doesn't really focus on class stuff."

"Sure," Hermione said, staring at him like he was trying to copy Ron's homework.

"I expected you to lecture me on how dangerous it was," Harry said.

"Well Penseives are pretty much view only," Hermione said. "Otherwise I'd probably say it's very dangerous. But they can't influence you directly or anything. They can only show you what happened from someone's perspective. It's not really any more dangerous than reading a history book. Viktor actually said Durmstrang was starting to incorporate them into some of their lessons. But they're expensive and hard to make."

"I see," Harry said.

"Didn't that book possess my sister?" Ron asked, defensively.

"Yes," Harry said. "Except I don't think it was the book. I think it was something she put in the book before that I killed with the basilisk fang."

"Can you be sure of that?" Ron asked.

"No," Harry said. "Except that absorbed writing and wrote back. I tried writing on the pages, nothing happens except for a black line appearing in part of the memory when you're on that page. Bit annoying, really."

"I don't think you should trust it," Ron said.

"If you want we can watch it together when Harry lets me borrow it," Hermione said. Harry stared between them. Ron looked like he wanted to argue, but he also looked like he didn't want to turn down spending time with just Hermione.

"I still think it's scary," Ron said, eyeing it suspiciously. Harry looked at him for a moment, his eyes lingering on the blaze orange Cannon's jacket and he just couldn't help himself any longer.

"You know what I think is scary?" Harry said.

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"I totally forgot to get either of you a Christmas present. So that jacket and those books. Yeah those totally weren't from me," he said. The look of horror on their faces as it sunk in was worth it.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Acknowledgments: Spicee on the beta work.

Chapter 19

Harry spent the rest of the day with Ron and Hermione. Hermine made sure he'd completed every one of his winter assignments accurately and almost seemed annoyed that he had, whereas Ron talked about quidditch.

It was a little annoying to have his main topics of conversation be either schoolwork or a sport he wasn't allowed to play any longer at school, but he supposed it was better than discussing the elephant in the room.

Of course it didn't help that had he been with the elephant in the room, well, at least she understood that there was such a thing as a comfortable silence and wouldn't pester him to talk every couple of minutes.

After the conversations about the diary they did not discuss Lord Voldemort any further. Harry almost rather would have. It just seemed like it would have been easier to talk about her than to ignore her. But Ron and Hermione seemed content on ignoring the subject and Harry wasn't really sure how to broach it with them in a productive way.

After hours of chatting about nothing that mattered in the least, Harry almost felt normal. They had him open the Christmas presents he'd missed out on while he was gone. He faked excitement at all of them, but opening them really just made him wonder about the ones that he'd left in Chicago.

Eventually Mrs. Weasley called them to dinner. Harry wandered down behind Ron and Hermione, wondering if he would be interrogated again. But it was just her and the young Auror Tonks at Headquarters.

Tonks eyed him carefully when he entered and greeted him in her usual manner. Harry couldn't help but think she sounded a little subdued. He wondered if that had to do with concern over him, or if assuming that made him supremely arrogant.

Mrs. Weasley served a baked chicken with baked potatoes and peas and carrots. Harry ate quietly as she asked typical questions about their day, acting as if the confrontations of the morning hadn't happened. Harry let Hermione and Ron answer for the most part as he poked at the chicken.

It was surprisingly bland. He'd never found Mrs. Weasley's cooking lacking before. But as he ate the dry meat he realized just how much he missed going out, or Emily's cooking, which often incorporated quite a lot of spices. He frowned down at his food and hoped that no one noticed.

After he finished eating the day caught up with him and he found himself feeling completely exhausted. He excused himself to try to get some sleep. Mrs. Weasley gave a pointed look at Ron, and then nodded after Harry. Ron sighed and followed him to bed.

Unfortunately for Harry, Ron wasn't the least bit tired, so he spent more of the time trying to con Harry into a game of chess, or talking, or really all sorts of things that weren't sleeping. Eventually, though, Harry's body won and sleep took him.

He didn't dream. He hadn't really dreamed of anything since his fight night away from it all. Had he been coherent enough to think about it he would have been rather relieved at that. It was nice being able to wake actually feeling rested.

Ron's snoring woke him up. It wasn't that uncommon of an occurrence. Ever since they'd learned silencing charms someone in the dormitory had always cast one on Ron and Neville's beds before sleep. He'd been annoyed during the summer when he wasn't able to use magic and spent far too long awake listening to it.

He reached to the bedside table for his wand, fully intending to silence his friend once more, but his hands found Emily's diary instead. He looked at it for a moment before fumbling around for his watch as well. It was just after three in the morning and his body seemed to be rested enough. He doubted the snoring would penetrate into the memory either. So instead he stared at the pages of the diary until it absorbed him once more.

Harry rejoined Emily in the church. She turned over her shoulder and gazed back into the mirror once more before she turned and stepped into the church proper.

Harry didn't watch her walk down the aisle. Something about that didn't sit well in his stomach. He couldn't place it though. He looked at her while she started walking, alone, toward Martin and the priest. But then he just couldn't watch her.

So he looked around the church inside. Martin's half was much more populated than hers. Harry recognized Martin's parents from earlier memories, as well as some of who he could only assume were his co-workers. A smattering of other people filled out his benches.

Emily's half consisted of three of her former housemates and their spouses, one wizard Harry recognized from her time in Europe during the war but couldn't name, and, to his surprise, the Bennett's. As far as Harry remembered she had no contact with them since leaving their residence. Still, they looked rather happy to see her again.

To Harry's mild surprise as well, Caractacus Burke sat in the back corner quietly. He wore expensive looking, albeit out of place dress robes and watched the proceedings expressionlessly. Borgin was nowhere to be seen.

The ceremony itself wasn't particularly long and before Harry knew it, Martin was leaning down to lift the veil from his fiancé's face. And, moments later, she changed from fiancé to wife. Harry didn't watch them kiss. Instead he eyed the faces in the crowd.

The reception that followed was also a rather quiet affair. Emily spent a great deal of time talking with her friends, and then the Bennett's. She apologized for disappearing on them and the fright that must have caused and they accepted without question and congratulated her on her luck.

She stayed by Martin's side as they spoke to his friends and family. He kept an arm gently around her the entire time and she seemed to have no problem being led around by the older man.

In a brief moment of solitude Burke approached her and offered his congratulations before telling her to enjoy the honeymoon. He left the reception shortly after that.

After a couple of hours they changed at the church and left. Harry sat in the back of the car in the memory as it pulled into the airport. The memory flashed forward and he saw them departing a plane on a small island.

He watched them spend the next two weeks exploring various parts of the island. He assumed by her comments in Chicago that it was somewhere in the Azores, but he didn't ever really figure out exactly where. The spent time either walking through the city or on the beach and both of them seemed almost aglow with happiness.

When they returned to England they seemed to settle back into a more normal routine. They had a few scuffles here and there, arguing about things Harry thought seemed a little silly, but he'd never really tried cohabitation with a lover, so he supposed he just might not have understood the difficulty of it.

Their worst fight bar far was about eight months into their relationship, coming back from a trip to a convention in Chicago. Emily had spent more time shopping and exploring a part of the city that Harry didn't remember from his time there. It had been about the amount of time they'd been able to spend together when going about their lives.

Harry was still thinking of that as he followed Emily out of Borgin and Burkes one night. Burke had specifically ordered her to visit one of his clients that had fallen on harder times. Supposedly she had two artifacts of interest to the shop, one that they'd sold hear nearly a decade prior, and Burke wanted to collect them back.

She'd been working on it with him, working rather late nights a couple of times a week for the last few weeks. But this was the first time that they'd sent her off alone to meet with Mrs. Smith.

She was there for hours. For the first stretch of time the older woman wouldn't talk about anything related to the objects Burke was after. Emily tried to be sterner than Harry had ever seen Burke be, but it backfired.

Instead the woman just kept chatting with her, about any topic she could think of. She noticed Emily's ring and the conversation turned to her various husbands. Mrs. Smith had had four and seemed moderately surprised Emily was on her first still. Emily was pretty clearly hesitant to talk about Martin, but she did eventually.

Harry saw her expression change completely when she did. She started smiling and chatting rather happily about him. She told stories from their honeymoon, she told the older woman how they met, and she even made a joking, blushing conversation about their first time.

Mrs. Smith laughed with her and seemed enraptured by the story. They kept talking well into the night. A few times an elderly elf walked in to refill tea and bring little cakes. Emily didn't eat much, but she sipped the tea whenever Mrs. Smith did.

Eventually they switched to scotch. Emily drank much less of it than the older woman, but she was clearly a little tipsy and the hours continued to pass. Eventually, though, the woman had the elf bring out the items.

When Mrs. Smith opened the containers Harry saw the items they'd been perusing for the first time. The first container held an ornate golden cup with a golden badger insignia on it. Emily eyed it for a moment while Harry wondered if it originally belonged to who he thought it belonged to.

The second container held an oddly familiar looking locket. Harry stared at it for a few minutes, looking at the large ornate S on it. He knew he'd seen it before, but at that moment it wasn't quite clicking in his mind.

Everything after that seemed to pass in a hurry, Harry was hardly aware that the negotiations were going on. But as the clock chimed one in the morning, Emily shook Mrs. Smith's hand and left with both items. She almost danced when she stepped out onto the streets of London. She beamed with a self-satisfied pride as she walked home.

It was when she got there that the mood of the memory immediately changed. Martin was waiting up for her. And he didn't seem particularly happy to see her. He was sitting at the small kitchen table and staring at the door.

"Late night?" he said coldly. Emily didn't seem to notice his tone. She slipped past him and into the kitchen, setting the two boxes on the counter as she did.

"Yeah, sorry, they sent me to actually try to acquire an item and I did! Two of them!" Emily said, sounding rather excited.

"Congratulations," Martin responded, dryly. Emily picked up a pear and bit into it, looking over at him. Harry had overheard them talking about rationing earlier, and the post-war economy. But he saw her doing the shopping in Diagon Alley and she always seemed capable of finding fresh food.

"You seem upset," Emily said, her smile faltering as she moved toward where he sat.

"It's Wednesday," Martin said.

"Well, Thursday now," Emily said, gazing at the clock on the wall.

"Yes, Thursday now," Martin sighed. He looked away from her and Harry noticed for the first time that there were quite a few empty beer bottles around the kitchen. Emily seemed to notice them as well.

"Are you drunk?" she asked.

"Probably," Martin nodded.

"Martin," Emily sighed, stretching out the middle of his name as she said it. She took out her wand and waved it lazily. Moments later a cauldron flew from a room down the hall and landed on the kitchen table.

"Emily," Martin whined in response. He watched her as she started to fill it. She waved her wand again and summoned a small chest to her. She opened it to reveal a tiered ingredient drawer. She started adding a couple of things into the cauldron. Martin just watched her. As if he expected something different from his wife. It wasn't until she was stirring the cauldron that he spoke again.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Brewing a potion that will make you not want to die at work tomorrow," she said. "Well, assuming you get some sleep."

"Are we not even going to talk about it?" Martin asked. Emily stared at him for a moment before looking back at her cauldron. Whatever he wanted to talk about was obviously not clicking for her.

"Talk about what?" she asked, adding a pinch of some root into the cauldron and stirring it. It changed from a rather unappealing brown color to a light turquoise as she stirred.

"It was Wednesday," Martin said. Emily looked up at him, her brows raised. And then, in an instant, her expression changed. Harry watched all of the color drain out of her.

"Oh fuck," she said quietly. And Harry heard arguments around him. He heard them as if they were happening right there as she stared back at her husband.

Harry heard Martin argue that he never saw her. He heard her complain that he was up hours before her every day. That the best look he got of her was most often just her curled into the blankets trying to fall back asleep after his alarm went off.

He heard him complain that she worked too much. That she was never around when he got home from working. And that she never seemed to have a set time when she did get home. He commented that all he wanted to do after a long day at the office was see her, sit with her, hold her. But she wasn't around.

Many nights, he said, he'd retire before she was even home. He'd wake long enough to feel her cuddling against him in bed, but he'd be out in moments after that. He hated that she worked weekends, so they so rarely had anything past a brief morning together there.

The few days she didn't work, where he'd come home to meet her, and she'd cook or they'd go out, and spend the evenings so blissfully together. He argued that she didn't need to work. That he made enough money for them to live comfortably.

Emily hated that. She'd told him about how the magical community used a different currency, and how she hated the thought of not having her own independent income. She pointed out that she bought groceries out of her salary. And that they were able to work around the rationing because of that.

She'd refused to give up her job. They'd fought about that. She'd gotten quite angry when he'd flippantly called her a shop girl. She'd yelled at him for quite a long time once he'd said that. Eventually she'd agreed to try to find a way to get one day during the weekend off. But she'd never bothered to broach that subject with Boring or Burke.

They'd fought again, along a similar vein, not too long later when he'd tried to approach the subject of children. She'd ended that argument by saying that she was never going to just be a homemaker and if his intentions were to adopt just to get her to stop working, it wasn't going to happen.

Then they'd fought once more, along same lines of the first, this time, Emily hadn't seemed that interested in arguing. She seemed annoyed by the mere thought of it. She'd let Martin rant and then just kissed him to shut him up.

After, as they lay on the living room carpet, a soft blanket draped over them, they'd agreed that they would make it a point to do something on every Wednesday. That would be their night out, regardless of any circumstance.

And one week later it had completely slipped her mind. She frowned down at the cauldron on the table before looking back up at him.

"Fuck," she said again.

"Wednesday," Martin said, stiffly.

"I'm so sorry," Emily said. Harry blinked as she actually sniffed. He saw a tear slip down from the corner of her eyes. She looked utterly defeated. She couldn't even bring herself to look at him.

"It's fine," Martin said stiffly, in a way that indicated it was anything but fine. But Harry saw him bite his lip, his eyes following the single tear.

"You must think I'm so thoughtless," Emily sniffed. "One opportunity and I forget everything."

"Don't worry, Emily," Martin said. He gritted his teeth but seemed to try to relax.

"No it isn't," she said, she sniffed again and kept looking away. She stood and paced around the kitchen, waving her arms as if trying to cool herself. Harry saw the tears were flowing more freely now. Martin staggered up from the table, wincing against his injured leg as he moved. When he got to her he hugged her and pressed his lips into her hair.

That just made her sob against him. He held her tightly and she just pressed her face into his chest.

"It's okay, Emily," he said.

"No it isn't," she said after she managed to compose herself. "You must think I'm a horrible wife."

"No I don't," he said. "I just…I just wish…"

"I know," she said. They were silent for a few moments until he spoke again.

"So what did you get?" he asked.

"Oh, well, nothing special," Emily said, looking away from him. Harry noticed that her makeup was rather smudged, making her eyes look rather large.

"Show me," Martin said calmly.

"Okay," Emily nodded and went to open the cases. She pulled out the cup first. Martin picked it up and examined it as Emily took out the locket.

"Is this solid gold?" he asked, examining it in his hands. He rubbed his thumb over the badger on it. "It must be worth a fortune."

"Probably," Emily said. "You remember what I told you about my school?"

"Yes," he said.

"Well the cup belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, one of the four founders. And the locket belonged to Salazar Slytherin, another of the four founders," Emily explained. "They're some of the last known items to belong to them."

"So they're incredibly rare in your world," Martin said.

"Yes," Emily said. Martin picked up the locket and examined it as well.

"Do they do anything special?" he asked.

"No one really knows about the locket," Emily said. "Supposedly no one has been able to open it in years. The cup was the first utensil at Hogwarts that elves were able to transport food to. It's a complex series of charms allowing food to get straight from the kitchen into various utensils. Her cup was the first one that the magic worked properly on."

"Sounds complicated," Martin said, taking the cup back into his hand and eyeing her potion. "Is that ready?"

"Probably," Emily said, giving him a patronizing look. "But you are so not using that cup to drink the potion."

"Oh come on," he frowned. "How often am I going to be able to use a solid gold goblet?"

"Fine," Emily sighed, rolling her eyes. "But you're not just dunking it in. Here." She got a ladle out and spooned some potion into the cup. Martin smirked at her and drank deeply, then offered the last vestiges of it to her. She took it from him and rolled her eyes. But she drank as well, eyes alight with mischief as she did.

After it was empty she took a few moments to clean the cup with magic and then put it back into the container. Martin was still examining the locket as she put away the cup.

"You were in Slytherin, right?" he said.

"Yes," she said.

"I see," Martin said. He stepped up behind her as she closed the case containing the cup. She seemed to be able to sense he was there and leaned back against him just as he slipped the locket around her neck.

"Oh haha," she rolled her eyes, staring down at the locket as he fastened the clasp.

"It looks good on you," he laughed.

"Pretty sure it's a man's locket," Emily said.

"I think lockets are pretty androgynous," Martin responded. "And I like it on you."

"Thanks," Emily said quietly.

"And I'd like to see you with only it on you," Martin whispered.

"You are terrible," Emily laughed. Martin smirked and slid his hands to her sweater, pulling it up.

"Uh huh," he said.

"At least take me to bed before undressing me," Emily laughed, but she lifted her arms above his head, allowing him to take off her top. He smirked and led her to the bedroom where he did just that.

Harry wasn't sure exactly how that managed to solve any arguments. Really he tried to focus on the locket, to figure out what was so familiar about it. Or at least that's what he told himself.

The next day she took the items to Borgin and Burke. They were both quite pleased with her. At least until she told them she wanted to buy the locket. They argued, but eventually Burke silenced Borgin and agreed to sell it to her at what Harry could only assume was a substantial discount, agreeing to have part of it simply taken out of her wages. She hugged Burke and thanked him as she pocketed the locket.

Her life continued then. But she never again missed a Wednesday date. And she managed to con Burke into giving her one day of the weekends off on alternate weeks. Harry noticed she always seemed to be nervous when approaching Burke about anything, but she always seemed to get what she wanted.

He wondered of the man was still alive. Certainly when he'd wound up at the shop a few years ago Borgin had been the only one there. But Burke seemed to have a closer relationship with her. Harry figured he would be interesting to talk to, if he was even still around. Of course, he wondered just how much the older man knew.

Months passed and the seasons changed in the memories. Emily and Martin celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, and other holidays. They spent a great deal of time just with each other, especially over the holidays. Harry watched as they settled into a routine. She taught him how to cook and a couple of nights a week she would come home to him having prepared dinner for her. She returned the favor on other nights.

He saw her continue to work closely with Burke. He saw her help acquire more items, he saw her read and practice magic in her own study in the Price house, and he saw her, he realized, happy. This Emily Riddle always had a smile on her face, her dimple always showing, her eyes always bright.

He watched as she left the shop late one morning, telling Burke she wanted to head to the clinic as she'd had a stomach flu that didn't seem to want to go away. Burke's response was to tell her to stop breathing on him.

She walked up Knockturn Alley and into Diagon Alley. She cut down a side street, through another alleyway and into a small door marked with a red cross. She filled out some paperwork and waited a few moments before being led to a small room. She sat on the raised bed and waited.

A woman in lime green robes entered, her grey hair pulled back into a bun.

"Emily Price?" she asked, looking at a clipboard that floated before her.

"Yes," Emily said quietly.

"I'm Healer Hughes," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," Emily said. Harry noticed that the healer wasn't really looking at her. Instead she was waving her wand around Emily and then seeming to examine lettering that appeared on the chart.

"What seems to be the problem?" Healer Hughes asked.

"Just a bit of flu that doesn't seem to go away," Emily said.

"I see," the healer responded. She continued casting spells around Emily.

"Doesn't seem like a flu," the healer said. "That or you're a little late on coming in. Symptoms?"

"Nausea, vomiting," Emily said. "Dizzy here and there. Tired a lot more than normal. Had a fever for a few days but that seems to be gone."

"Your temperature is normal," the healer confirmed as she nodded at her chart.

"Good," Emily said.

"And you don't seem to be ill," the healer said. She eyed her charts more closely before looking at Emily. Her eyes flashed to her patient's left hand.

"I see," Emily said quietly.

"How long have you been married?" the healer asked.

"Just over two years," Emily responded.

"And when was your last cycle?" the healer asked. Emily laughed.

"Nineteen forty-five," Emily said.

"Potion?" the woman asked.

"Cursed," Emily said.

"What kind of curse?" the healer asked.

"I don't know. It happened during the war. They healed it, but the healer at the time said I was barren," Emily said. "They didn't know exactly what it was, either."

"And you've used no protection during your marriage?" the healer asked.

"No," Emily said, blushing at the question. The healer nodded at her.

"Well I think they were wrong," Healer Hughes said. She stepped over to a counter in the small room and started taking out some pamphlets.

"What?" Emily asked.

"You're pregnant, Mrs. Price," the healer said.

"Impossible," Emily shook her head. "I wasn't kidding. I haven't had a period in years."

"I don't doubt that," Healer Hughes said. "But you just described morning sickness perfectly, and there is nothing else wrong with you. It's still a little too early for a fully positive test. I would guess you're two to three weeks along. If you come back in another two weeks we should be able to differentiate your life from your child's by then to confirm."

"But, the curse," Emily blinked rather rapidly, her hands fluttering to her stomach.

"Without knowing what it was, I don't know what to tell you," Healer Hughes said. "But some magic does have a shelf life. I suspect it just wore off."

"That's," Emily started, but whatever it was, she didn't finish the sentence.

"Take these," Healer Hughes said, handing her the pamphlets. They were filled with images of young children and babies. Emily put them into her purse without really looking at them. "I would suggest going to St. Mungo's in the next week or two and setting yourself up with a prenatal healer. I'd suggest Healer Patel or Healer Jones."

"Oh, okay," Emily said quietly. She sat there for a couple of minutes. After a moment the healer left her alone. A short time later Emily left the clinic. Harry followed her out. He followed her back to work. He saw she looked rather dazed. She asked Burke if she could take the rest of the day off. He waved her away and told her to feel better.

She walked out of the alley and then back to her house. She would usually apparate, but this time she walked. It was a long walk, but she didn't seem to mind. She opened the door with her wand and stepped in, pacing around once she entered.

Harry watched her pace for a few moments. She looked rather lost and confused. But every now and again she would smile a little bit and her hands would flutter to her stomach. Eventually, she settled on the couch and Harry decided it was time to exit the memory.

When he came back to Headquarters he checked the time. It was just after five in the morning. He put the diary on his bedside table for a moment, before he realized that there was a chance if he did that, he pulled it close and held it to him as he rested his head on the pillow.

His mind shot back to when he'd been with her in her apartment. She'd dismissed him when he'd mentioned wanting a family. She'd told him she hadn't ever wanted that. And yet that wasn't the sense he got from watching the memory.

Sleep threatened to take him almost immediately, his eyelids becoming surprisingly heavy. He let his eyes close and he let himself drift off, thinking that it would be nice to be back at Hogwarts. He couldn't wait to show Dumbledore's Army the new dueling moves he'd picked up.

Of course thinking of Dumbledore's Army just made him think of Dumbledore. He wondered if the headmaster would continue to completely ignore him. He realized that he was due for another conversation he was not hoping for. But that would wait, he knew, until he'd slept some. He knew it would be better if he was at least coherent. He cuddled close to the diary and let himself drift off.

Ron woke him in the morning. He dressed and went to breakfast, essentially just going through the motions for his last morning at headquarters. It wasn't particularly entertaining, he ate and packed, making sure the diary was never far from his sight. But it was fairly obvious to him that the adults were giving him a wide berth. Still, he tried to not let it bother him.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to try to keep Ron around him at all times. And she tried to keep the girls away from him at the same time. Hermione mostly ignored the Weasley matriarch unless specifically caught. And even then she'd find an excuse to be back with Harry and Ron in a couple of minutes.

At the end of the day they took the floo from headquarters back to Hogwarts. He found himself in Professor McGonagal's office. He was the last of the group back through and the only one she spoke to.

"Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office when you're settled in, Mister Potter," she said stiffly.

"Yes Professor," Harry said mechanically. He knew that had been coming. He was moderately surprised that it was going to happen back at Hogwarts rather than at headquarters.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the hallway when he left the office. He told them of his meeting as they walked back toward Gryffindor tower.

When they stepped into the dormitory Harry shoved his trunk to the foot of his bed. He pulled back the curtains and saw a small brown box resting on the center of his bed. He blinked at it and took the pocket knife out of his pocket to remove the twine and tape holding it shut. He flipped it open to see a small folded sheet of paper and his Komainu.

He grabbed the paper and unfolded it, staring down at the text.

 _Your owl is quite talented. It was almost as if she knew I was looking for a way to get into the school and deliver your gift. I didn't want to burden her with everything you left here, but I will hang onto it for now. Enjoy term. – E_

Harry stared at it for a few moments before reaching and tucking it into his pocket. He turned his attention to the temple lion and couldn't help but smile. He set her diary on his bed and lifted the Komainu out of the box and set it on the book.

"Guard," he said, poking it with his wand and thinking of the book as he did. It nodded at him and curled up on it on his bed. He pulled the curtains closed and turned his attention back to unpacking his trunk, pulling out pieces of the school uniform to wear to his meeting with Dumbledore.

He pulled out a pair of jeans from near the bottom, intending to take the tie that that somehow got looped through the belt buckle off of them to wear it. The jeans felt heavy and everything clicked in his head. He reached into the pocket and pulled out the heavy golden locket. He tried his best to not think of where he'd last seen that locket. He stared at it for a few moments and somehow he knew what to do.

"Open," he hissed, not even quite realizing he was speaking a different language. The locket popped open instantly. He stared inside of it. There were simply two photographs inside of it. The first was a wallet-sized black-and-white headshot of Martin Price in uniform. The second was a colored photograph of Emily and Martin Price at the altar, standing arm-in-arm.

Harry couldn't help but stare for a few moments. Something in general felt wrong with the locket in his hand, but he didn't know what. And the photographs were too engrossing to him. Somehow, deep down, he'd always figured there was going to be some sort of surprise moment where it was all a lie. Lord Voldemort was known to lie.

But he'd found this locket well before he'd even had the diary. What it was doing at Grimmauld place was beyond him at the moment. But Sirius had mentioned that his family could be quite dark. Could she have asked them to hold onto it?

But that didn't matter, he thought, looking down at the photographs. Somehow, they confirmed it all for him. They made it seem all the more real. His first reaction was to head directly to the diary. He needed to know more. He had to understand what had led to the deaths of his parents.

He swallowed hard. He had to remember she'd killed his parents. He couldn't forget that, no matter what he felt. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that she was responsible for the deaths of his parents. And he told himself there was no way he could ever forgive her for that.

"You shouldn't keep Dumbledore waiting," Ron said quietly. He seemed to be trying to look around Harry to see what he was looking at. Harry snapped the locket closed and tucked it into his pocket.

"You're right," Harry sighed. He stepped from the dormitory and out of the portrait hole in moments. The walk to the gargoyle that blocked Dumbledore's office only took a few moments. It slid aside as he approached. He ascended the staircase, the door at the top was already open. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, scratching away on a piece of parchment with a quill.

"Good evening, Harry," the headmaster said softly. He took a moment to finish the sentence he was working on before he looked up at Harry.

"Professor," Harry said stiffly.

"Please have a seat," Dumbledore said. Harry stepped up toward the desk and sat in one of the chairs outside of it. The locket felt uncomfortable in his pocket so he reached in and put a hand around it, shifting slightly.

"Professor McGonagall said you wanted to see me," Harry said.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I heard from Alastor and Sirius where you spent the majority of your winter holiday," Dumbledore said.

"I figured," Harry said softly.

"Harry I don't even know what to say," he said quietly. His voice filled with disappointment as he stared at the young man sitting across from him.

"I don't like being sequestered," Harry said. "It's what the Dursley's would do to me. I hate it."

"I understand that Harry, but what you did," Dumbledore started but Harry interrupted him.

"Do you really?" Harry asked, coldly. Dumbledore gave him a pained smiled.

"More than you know," he said quietly. He looked at Harry, his eyes sad. But Harry did not feel anything pressing into his mind. He wondered, though, if he even would if Dumbledore tried.

"Why did you want to see me?" Harry frowned, knowing full well he'd already asked the question and prevented the answer.

"You were thrown into a war you do not understand, Harry. There's so much more that you don't understand," Dumbledore said.

"Like why you blacklisted an injured eighteen year old girl?" Harry asked.

"Look at what she did with power, Harry. What do you think it would have been had she risen through the ministry?" Dumbledore asked, his voice not betraying any emotion. Harry was honestly more surprised that the man didn't deny it.

"She wanted to work with war refugees," Harry said quietly. Dumbledore just stared at him for a few moments before just shaking his head.

"Harry, there is little point in arguing about the past," he said. "You need to know about the present. Perhaps I've been remiss in not telling you this sooner, Harry. But you are crucial to the coming war."

"A war that I don't have a choice in," Harry said.

"Be that as it may, prophecy is a fickle mistress," Dumbledore said.

"A prophecy that Emily thinks is fulfilled," Harry said.

"A prophecy she only ever heard half of, Harry," Dumbledore responded.

"And you're going to tell me why she'd evil and why I'm important then?" Harry asked.

"Her actions, Harry, have proven her to be evil. But I will tell you what she doesn't know. Yes," Dumbledore said. "And I will tell you how you can defeat her."

"What if I don't want to," Harry said.

"Then you're condemning the world," Dumbledore responded. "The prophecy that you only know one part of states that you are the only one who can rid us of her." He spoke completely calmly, his eyes locking on Harry. Harry just looked away.

"That's too much for one boy," he said quietly.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "But now that you know I will help, Harry. I will show you what to do. But you can't go running off again."

"Oh?" a sickly sweet voice said from the door to the office. "Just where did the boy run off to?"

"Good evening, Dolores," Dumbledore said quietly, although Harry noticed his eyes flashed with anger as she stepped into the office. "As I've told you before, while my office is always open to faculty, it is decorum to knock before entering."

"Where was he?" Professor Umbridge said, eyeing Harry and completely ignoring Dumbledore's words. Harry wondered just how long she'd been there. Dumbledore had to have some type of charm that told him when people entered the staircase. At least Harry assumed he would have. He oculdn't help but think that she'd been spying on them, that she'd heard everything that they were talking about. He was rather glad he didn't mention anything more about Emily.

He took a moment to just look at Dumbledore. The headmaster looked his usual self, although his shoulders were perhaps tenser than normal. He wondered if the headmaster was thinking the exact same thing.

"I already told you, Dolores," Dumbledore responded quietly. "Harry spent the holidays with the Weasley family. He is quite close with their son Ronald, as I'm sure you've noticed, and wanted to be with them in their hour of need."

"Yet their home was empty for the duration of the winter holiday," Umbridge said.

"Perhaps they simply wished to be closer to the hospital, Dolores. People are not required to be exactly where you want them," Dumbledore responded. Umbridge flushed red.

"I know you're up to something, Albus," Professor Umbridge said. "We know he wasn't with his relatives either. Cornelius will hear about this."

"I'm sure the minister is quite concerned with where Hogwarts students spend their holiday. That does seem far more pressing than why a ministry employee was attacked and poisoned on ministry grounds," Dumbledore said.

"That fool was simply affected harshly by the charms meant to keep people out of the Department of Mysteries. There is going to be an inquiry into why he was trying to trespass," Professor Umbridge commented.

"He is not a fool," Harry said stiffly.

"Mr. Potter, as in class, if your opinion is wanted, it will be asked for," Professor Umbridge responded.

"I must kindly ask you to not insult parents in front of students, Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore said coldly. "Professors are meant to be role models."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't lie to them about a threat that does not exist," Professor Umbridge responded. "Surely fear-mongering amongst the student body is also a poor usage of any student's time."

"Harry, I think our meeting is done," Dumbledore said. "I look forward to our next conversation. You should return to your dormitory now." Harry didn't need to be told twice. He didn't want to be in the room with Professor Umbridge any longer. He figured that if he spent much longer with the Defense professor he'd end up using some of the things Emily showed him on her. And he figured it was best to not do that in front of Dumbledore.

"Yes professor," Harry responded. He stood, taking his hand and the locket from his pocket as he did mostly for convenience. Umbridge's eyes shot to it instantly.

"What is that?" she asked. Her eyes went wide, she looked almost gleeful at seeing something in his hands. Harry thought he could almost see the wheels spinning in her head as she formulated a plan to use against him.

"A locket," Harry responded, more on instinct than out of actually wanting to.

"I can see that," Umbridge said loudly, her face flushing an angry red as if on command. "A locket that looks exactly like one stolen from my office last month. So you encourage thievery now, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Dolores," Dumbledore said calmly. He didn't stand or go for his and or do anything that Harry would have considered threatening. Instead he just stared at her, as if appraising her actions.

"Give it here, Mr. Potter!" Umbridge yelled, her eyes alight with glee. "Theft from staff is grounds for expulsion!"

"I didn't steal anything from you," Harry said calmly. He could feel the anger coming back to him. He held the locket tightly in his hand, knowing there was no way he'd give it to her.

"Give it to me now, you liar," Umbridge yelled. She rushed toward him. Harry reached toward his pocket with his left hand, intending to draw his wand, but a booming voice stopped him.

"Professor Umbridge!" Dumbledore shouted. It was so shocking to Harry to hear Dumbledore raise his voice that he actually winced away from the noise. He turned briefly and saw a pale red glow fade from around him.

"He is a liar and a thief," Umbridge raved. She reached toward him but Harry was far enough away that a simple step to the side put him well out of her grasp.

"I will not have you slandering a student for personal gain. The locket in Harry's possession is a family heirloom of mine that I was showing him. I would like it back, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. His eyes were focused on the gold chain. Harry hesitated. But he knew he only really had two options, and Dumbledore seemed preferable to Umbridge.

"Thanks for letting me see it," he said meekly and handed it to the headmaster. Deep down he knew the best course of action was simply to go along with Dumbledore's story. That would at least give him an adult backing him if it came to that. Although Harry could already tell that the truth wasn't something that Umbridge saw as crucial when it came to personal gain.

"You are welcome, Harry. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I have matters to discuss with Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore said as he took the locket. Harry saw him run his thumb gently over the embossed S on the face of it.

Part of Harry wanted to stay. But he knew the headmaster wouldn't allow for him to do that. And part of him thought it was best to not get on Umbridge's nerves any more than he already was. He slipped by her as quickly as he could. She tried to block his exit from the office but he was agile enough to be halfway down the stairs before she really moved.

Still, he walked back to the dormitory feeling like he'd made the wrong decision, like he shouldn't have given the locket to Dumbledore. But there wasn't anything he could do about that now. He'd have to ask the man for it back the next time. Dumbledore could have no reason to keep it, he told himself. Surely he'd give it back.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Acknowledgments: Spicee for the beta work.

Chapter 20

Lord Voldemort stepped gingerly onto the island. She hated flying but without access to the ministry floo it was the only real way to get to the island. She tossed the broom down on the ground nearby, trying her best to remember exactly where she'd put it just in case she needed to summon it in a hurry.

She walked slowly toward the citadel. She'd memorized the plans already. It wasn't an overly complicated facility, once one saw the patterns to the maze design inside. She supposed it didn't need to be. Now she just had to hope that they didn't bother spending a great deal of time moving the prisoners around.

She was only about a hundred paces away from where she'd landed on the island and the fortress itself. As she gazed around she figured she must have been in some sort of mass graveyard. There was little adornment and none of the headstones seemed to be remotely cared for.

She shook the icy image of a pair of headstones out of her head. But she still made a mental note to check on them when she returned to the mainland. Icy rain pelted around her as she stood in the graveyard. She pulled the cloak tighter around her before stepping toward the citadel, bracing herself for what she knew was about to happen.

She took a deep breath as she closed the distance to the citadel, around halfway there she felt the temperature drop considerably, but there seemed to be no further action from the citadel. Still, she knew that she wouldn't be able to approach totally unhindered.

She was proven correct when she was three quarters to the entrance. About ten black cloaked figures flew out of the upper levels of the citadel and moved toward her in a circular pattern. She drew her wand and waited for them to approach, her eyes flashing between each of the figures.

 _You're a vile little urchin. No one will want you. No one will love you. Go. Get Away._

She froze and stared at the dementors as they formed ranks around her. She wondered if the recognized her. She certainly didn't look very similar to when she'd last focused on their support. But then again, they didn't have eyes. So perhaps her scent hadn't changed? Of course, she wasn't sure if they could smell, either. Still, they weren't moving to attack her. And they had to be able to identify people somehow.

 _Why didn't you just do what he wanted? He would have taken you from here. It's not your position to refuse him anything, scamp._

Lord Voldemort appraised them. They didn't say anything. It wasn't common knowledge but dementors could talk. They had raspy voices and she suspected it hurt them to do so. It was rare that they would deem conversation worthy of their time. They had other methods of communicating that were more effective than speech, anyway.

She let her hand slide to her wand and focused on a happy memory. She saw Martin and the altar clearly in her mind. That should be enough, she knew, even if it was painful to think about. She wanted to avoid a direct fight, if she could.

Still, the creatures did nothing more than circle her. She suspected they were trying rather hard to entrap her. But she was not so easily trapped. She gazed from one of the hooded monsters to another, eyeing them carefully. They moved deliberately, like a predator trying to not spook its prey.

 _He's a top donator you beast. I don't care what he tried to do with your skirt. That's no excuse for burning him! Get back to your room you stupid girl. You'll be out on the street if this costs us._

"You recognize me then?" Lord Voldemort said, doing her best to ignore the voices in her head. There was a collective hiss, not dissimilar in volume of a group of adults exhaling at the same time. It was neither a confirmation or denial.

 _Stop that racket. Why did we ever give you that damn thing? It sounds like you're torturing a cat in your dormitory! Give it here! Now!_

"I've come to strike a bargain," Lord Voldemort said again after none of the cloaked figures responded. She turned to the one that floated directly between her and the prison. There was another collective exhale but still no response past the rain turning to hail as it fell around her. Some of the pellets hurt as they hit her, but she made no noise or comment. She knew she could not show any weakness.

 _Filth. Mudblood. Mistake. More a badger than a snake. Get her. Hurt her. She can never be one of us. Never._

This wasn't working. Or was it? Lord Voldemort wasn't sure how to interoperate their actions. They were never easy creatures to predict. Unless it was specifically related to feeding their reactions often surprised her. Just when they seemed to make sense, they'd do the complete opposite of what was expected.

 _Bitch. Dumb. Ugly. Who would ask her to a ball? Who could spend an evening with her? She'd probably insist on dueling. Then again, at the end you wouldn't have to look at her any longer_.

She shook the schoolyard taunts from her head. They were products of ages ago. They weren't relevant now. She ignored them. Just as she'd ignored the matron before them. But it wouldn't last forever. They'd hit a chord eventually. She'd never responded well to fear. She had to accomplish her purpose before the rage took over.

Perhaps they were taunting her intentionally. Perhaps they were seeing if she'd break. She couldn't break. That wouldn't help. She needed to be successful here. Even if she wasn't quite sure what the point of the mission was, past establishing dominance once more.

 _Don't send me back there. Please. Please. Please. Let me stay, let me stay let me stay. You have no idea what will happen to me there. Please! Please! No!_

She knew her free followers were gossiping behind her back, gossiping that she was weaker than before, that she could not sway dark creatures as before, that she wasn't sure what to do. That she'd lost the will to fight the war.

 _Sirens. Always Sirens. Every Day. Every Night. Crying underground as the earth shook and cracked above. Always wondering if the next rumble would lead to nothing more than a permanent blackness._

There was, perhaps, some truth to those arguments. She certainly had been procrastinating under various guises for many months. A lot had changed in fifteen years and it all fascinated her. So she'd spent time acclimating to it, to understand the world as it was years later, and to understand what had happened to her followers after.

 _She's evil. Evil. They can do things, Mother. Vile, evil, terrible things_.

And after that she'd decided she needed to learn about Harry. If he was hers then she needed to understand him. It was worlds easier to play at someone's motivations when you understood them. Unfortunately, understanding people, truly understanding them, seeing them as they saw themselves, loving them as they saw themselves, well, that had consequences. Consequences she understood but still hadn't foreseen.

 _You are evil. Pure evil. What did we ever do to you? What did my husband do to you? What did my son do to you?_

But her followers had been useless when it came to Harry. They hadn't been able to provide her with any useful information. It had been annoying, really, how little they'd learned about him. In their situation, she thought she'd want to understand the boy that could so easily turn into their greatest enemy. But they'd simply gone on with their lives.

Deep down, what hurt the most, was that she couldn't say she would have reacted differently in their shoes.

And now they constantly wanted to be rewarded for their loyalty. Loyalty they hadn't really ever properly shown. Loyalty that they could barely prove. They were afraid of her, sure. But loyalty from fear was not the same as loyalty from love or adoration. For now, it worked. But in the past she'd enraptured them completely, and now they were just concerned with saving themselves _._

So she'd had to use a different plan to get information she'd needed. It had taken nearly a month of research and prep before she'd been able to put it into action. It had been working too, it had been working so very well. She'd learned more in two days than she'd gotten from any of her followers, and they'd had fifteen years.

 _You're weak. Not strong enough to protect any of them. As soon as I'm done with you I'm going to find them and kill all of the rest of them. Slowly_.

But something had stopped that plan. And even now she wasn't exactly sure what that had been. Although she did hope that she could garner that intelligence this evening. She half wondered if that was really her reason for finally decided to stop putting this off. She knew it probably had something to do with it. But she didn't want to focus on that for too long.

 _Drown, Bitch._

She shivered. She couldn't lose focus. The dementors were still just surrounding her. They seemed hesitant to move on her. She looked at each one of them in turn. It was almost unnerving to just watch them float around her. She tightened her hand around her wand.

 _Margaret is amazing. She's so warm and kind and makes me feel like a king just being around her. It's just amazing, Em._

Lord Voldemort twitched. They were getting to an area they would soon regret. She chose to not simply attack, though. They felt weaker than she remembered. She wondered if the ministry sequestering them on the island had sapped some of their power. If true, she could get it back for them easily enough.

"Are you going to bargain?" she asked, she thrust her hip out in annoyance and stared at the one in the middle, assuming it was the leader. "Or are you just going to stand there and hiss at me?"

They floated before her and hissed at her.

 _Oh and she's pregnant, Em! Can you believe it? I'm going to be a father!_

"You're weakened," she said, gazing around the group again. "I'll offer the same as I offered years ago. Join me and you'll be allowed to feed as you like on the continent." The dementors made no noise in response.

 _Of course she was better than you! She was around! She cared! You work more than I do! I have a roommate not a second wife! I see you less than the office mail clerk for Christ's sake!_

"Enough," Lord Voldemort hissed at the dementors. They started to move, slowly circling her, but not closing the distance between them.

 _You can't love someone who's never there!_

"I said enough," she growled. They started to circle faster around her, as if sensing they struck a chord.

 _Purse. Necklace. Wallets. Come on. Faster. Faster!_

Lord Voldemort stepped back away from the circling dementors. They moved around her as she did. She grit her teeth together and focused on the one she thought was the leader, timing its path around in the circle.

 _Rings too! No-_

"Enough!" Lord Voldemort shrieked. She slashed her wand as the lead dementor came. The force of her spell knocked it and the two around it out of the circle. The other dementors broke off and formed ranks in front of her and hissed.

"You know you're too weak to have me simpering before you. Will you bargain or not?" Lord Voldemort stepped towards them. This time they slowly floated away from her.

 _You are weaker, too._

It was like hundreds of voices talking at once in her head. All of the dementors focused on her in unison. It made her brain throb as the spoke directly into her head, rather than aloud.

"Younger, perhaps, but I have all my powers from before," Lord Voldemort said. "And all my knowledge."

 _No. Weaker. Something inside of you. Was absent last time. Weakness._

"You're delusional," Voldemort spat.

 _Prove it. Accomplish your mission_.

This time it sounded like fewer voices in her head. She saw five dementors break off from the rest of the group and float away from the prison as if to observe. She turned toward the prison and rolled her eyes.

Lord Voldemort knew that she shouldn't have to prove herself to a bunch of dark creatures. But she also knew that it would be a good excuse to let loose for the first time in far too long.

So she let the magic flow through her, relishing the way her own power felt as it coursed through her veins. She thrust her wand toward the prison, releasing a small orb of magic. It flew toward the nearest wall and detonated as soon as it impacted against it.

There would have been cleaner ways to get in, but she wasn't in the mood for clean. She slashed her wand to clear rubble from the opening she'd made. As soon as she stepped toward it the remaining dementors from outside swarmed toward her.

She was bombarded with images of her failures. She saw London streets littered with rubble, death in Japan, and carnage in Germany. In the moments it took her to clear her head she felt the icy grip of a dementor on her wrist. She punched it. Mostly out of instinct, knowing full well that would have little effect on the creature.

Lord Voldemort turned her wand on it and aimed a blasting curse at the creatures head, decapitating the dementor, causing its grip to falter on her. While decapitation was usually a very effective way of dealing with enemies, it was not a way to finish off a dementor. She figured that specific one would be out of action for under two minutes before it regenerated.

She slid into the prison from the hole she'd created and with two flicks of her wand completely repaired the damage to the wall. She knew there would be more dementors inside, and that repairing the wall would only buy her moments from the others that she'd left outside. She also knew there were wizards inside, too.

And she knew that one of those wizards was her most important target. She'd have to find the warden. The Azkaban warden held a specific key to all of the cells in the building. Lucius had been able to give her a list of every enchantment used to keep the prisoners inside, and while she was confident that she could remove all of those enchantments, she wasn't stupid enough to think she could do so quickly. And the less time she was there, the better.

She'd entered into the cafeteria. It was completely empty and mostly for show. The vast majority of the prisoners were too weak to be able to move daily to eat and were fed in their cells. But there was still staff and occasional visitors that needed to be fed. Still, the open room did not look like it got much use.

But it had the advantage of being the closest side of the building to the Warden's Office. There were three wardens at any given time, working eight hour shifts. The entire staff of Azkaban worked that way. They floo'd straight to the prison from the Auror office at the back of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was the only outside connection the prison had. And it also meant aurors on duty could respond to any activity at the prison in seconds.

So if the dementors triggered that alarm, this could turn into a very bloody evening. But as of yet, it did not seem like any alarm had been raised. She closed her eyes to picture the layout of the prison in her head before deciding on which direction would get her to the Warden's office the quickest.

Lord Voldemort knew she had six hours before the shift change, before anyone would notice anything amiss from the prison, assuming she completed her mission as she hoped. She didn't think the entire raid should take more than an hour. But she also didn't know the exact condition she'd find her Death Eaters in.

She raised magical barriers behind her at every turn, intending purely to slow dementors that tried to follower her directly. The inside of Azkaban was set up as a maze intentionally, purely to make it more difficult for anyone who escaped to work their way out.

Lord Voldemort ran into the first patrol of wizard guards after a few moments. They'd turned opposite corners and faced each other at the same time. They went for their wands, but she already had hers out. She blasted the first one, hitting him in the chest with a smaller version of the same curse she'd used to break into the building.

His partner screamed as bits of bone and flesh spattered all over the small corridor. Lord Voldemort killed him with a killing curse. She spent a few moments examining the bodies for anything that might be useful, she took their wands but did not find anything else useful.

Moments later she heard another patrol rushing toward her. They must have heard the scream from the first one. She waited for them to turn the corner and dispatched them as well with two more quick killing curses. She took their wands as well once she'd finished with them.

She did not see another dementor as she moved through the inside of the prison. It only took her a few minutes to make her way to the Warden's office. She blasted the door open and stepped through, grabbing it with magic in midair and throwing it like a spear toward a wizard in the side of the room.

The warden sat behind a desk. His hand shot toward a button that she knew would alert the Aurors to an emergency at the prison.

"Imperio!" she said, pointing her wand at the man. His hand stopped inches from the button. She flicked her wand upward and he stood, looking away from the alarm and directly at her.

"Bring me the key," she said. The man fought her, struggling against the curse. He was stronger than most but she simply forced her will into the spell and ordered him once more.

"Bring me the key, now," she said. He nearly crumpled against the force of the command, but he did take a key from his belt and step toward her. He handed her an old looking brass key. She took it and nodded at him, smiling warmly.

"Thank you, Warden. Now kill yourself," the man's eyes went wide and he fought against bringing his wand up. He tried to level it on her, but it instead focused on his wrists. He screamed as he cursed himself, until he fell to the ground in a heap, his blood flowing across the room.

Lord Voldemort gathered the wands from the two corpses in the room and stepped back out into the prison maze. She knew her Death Eaters were in their own wing, under the most constant guard by dementors. She moved toward it quickly.

She did not see another dementor as she moved through the prison. At least until she entered the Death Eater wing.

There were probably a hundred waiting for her inside the large room. Cells lined each of the walls and she could hear vaguely familiar voices moaning in pain and despair as she entered. The five dementors from outside floated above the rest. One in the lead raised a bony hand and her.

 _Kill her_.

It was a clear two words in her head, and the rest of the dementors in the room charged. She slashed at them with her wand, forcing them back from her with powerful gusts of air. But she knew full well that would simply delay them. She kept shooting off spells as soon as they came into her head. But she was doing very little more than delay the creatures.

When direct magic failed her she tried a more indirect route. She ripped pieces of the walls out and threw them at the creatures, but physical damage seldom had much of an effect on dementors. She tried turning the debris into lava or acid in midair, splashing it over group of them. That was mildly more effective, but the hit ones recovered quickly.

She started to see things as she fought them. Ghosts and shades from the past. They were forcing their way into her head, making her relive parts of her life she'd rather leave behind.

She kept fighting through it, growing more and more desperate as the dementors edged closer to her. She could feel the magic radiate off of her. She could see the green and purple smoke float away from her as she kept trying to push them back away from her. She fought on for what she felt like hours but what she knew was merely minutes.

Lord Voldemort kept trying to push them from her mind, to close it off to them. But then she realized she could hear them as well, if she focused on it. And they were afraid. She was lasting longer than they thought possible and they were weaker than they'd thought. Years of not being able to feed on fresh prey, happy prey, had left them shells of what they were capable of. And now they were worried that she could beat them.

They were trying to use her, she realized. They wanted her to kill the wizards at the prison so that they could leave. They'd have left her corpse as a gift but then gotten as far away from ministry control as possible.

She laughed through the spells. She could beat them. She knew she could beat them. She forced herself into their heads, making them listen to her laughter, her confidence that they were nothing compared to her. Mere shells of what they were formally.

But, and she let the thought linger in their minds, if they joined her, she could help them restore that lost strength.

They faltered, but they did not stop. They kept trying to get close to her and she kept pushing them back. She focused into their individual psyches as she did, looking through their heads was rather unpleasant, but eventually she found what she needed.

Two of them shared images of a stag chasing them through a street in a London suburb. Being chased away from three youths. She grabbed them out of the air with magic and forced them from the group and behind her.

Voldemort spun back toward the group and focused. She filled her thoughts with specific memories. She thought of learning of V-E day, she thought of sliding a ring onto her finger, she thought of staring at a handsome man through a translucent veil, she thought of watching a drunk teen spin on a barstool and then miss his mouth with a cheese covered chip.

"Expecto Patronum!" she yelled, and a large silver serpent shot from her wand. It hissed loudly up at the dementors and guarded her back as she turned her gaze toward the two dementors she'd picked out of the crowd.

It was common belief that dementors could not be killed. This was, of course, incorrect. Immortality was unobtainable. Anything could be killed. It was just more complicated with some things, herself included. But that did not mean it wasn't possible. Of course, the mere through of impossibility was foolish. Magic, she'd long since learned, could accomplish almost anything with enough effort.

It was a testament of how perilous group think was, she thought, that people simply accepted that. Were they really foolish enough to think an indestructible creature would obey the Ministry of Magic if their only defense was a complicated charm most wizards never bothered to learn?

Foolish. Of course the Ministry had ways of killing a dementor. If they didn't, the dark creatures would have probably exterminated humanity by now.

She stepped toward the dark creatures, looking through the purple and green haze that emanated from her, her lips curving up into a one dimpled smirk. She could sense their confusion, their uncertainty, and their fear. They longed to get back to their companions. They must know that surely that wouldn't happen.

She forced herself into their minds. A dementor's mind was much less organized than a humans, but she found what she needed, more or less. They didn't know who gave the order to apprehend the wizard at Privet Drive. They only remembered the voice and the color pink. But that was all Lord Voldemort needed.

She raised her wand at the first one.

 _Please master! No! We shall serve faithfully!_

"Yes," she said softly. "You shall. As an example." She leveled her wand on the first one and forced pure magical power from herself into it. She saw the aura that floated around her follow the magic and heard the dementor shriek.

Dementors were mortal. Yes. But they were incredibly durable. Almost nothing that one could do to one physically would do much more than annoy one. They shrugged off injury and regrew missing parts more quickly than any creature she'd encountered. But their minds were weak, and if you were strong enough, you could exploit that.

When the ministry did it, they often used five highly trained Aurors in a controlled environment to dispose of one dementor. Lord Voldemort didn't need four others to help her.

No the trick was to force more emotion into them than they could deal with. Happiness worked the quickest, but it didn't really matter what it was. Dementors were even capable of doing it to each other with enough focus.

It was no different than mentally breaking a human, really. Except once the dementor's mind was overloaded enough it broke, and then slowly vaporized. The key came to just forcing magic and emotion into it for as long as you could.

It took an exceptionally powerful wizard to even figure it out. Grindelwald had written extensively about it in his personal notes. He claimed to have been the first to do it alone, but Voldemort doubted that. The first in a while, perhaps, but she doubted he was the first one to ever do so.

It took her a full minute for the first one. And a little longer for the second. But after she finished she turned back toward the rest of the dementors, held away from her by the silvery glowing serpent. She gazed up at the leaders.

 _We surrender, dismiss the familiar_.

"Soon," she said. They hissed in annoyance at her. But she quieted the hiss with a glare back up in their direction.

She took her time walking toward the cells in the wing, unlocking each slowly with the wardens key. She did not check on the prisoner within, but rather just unlocked each cell in the room and waited for her Death Eaters to join her.

It took the Death Eaters a few minutes to work up the strength to leave their cells and find her. But eventually they wandered out. The silver snake created a path to her from each cell when a Death Eater appeared. The dementors hissed, but did not try to bypass the patronus.

"Master?" Rabastan Lestrange said as he emerged from the cell and stared at her. He didn't look like he recognized her. Lord Voldemort expected that they recognized the glowing aura more than her actual looks.

"Hello Rabastan," Lord Voldemort said.

"Master?" Another voice said. Lord Voldemort turned to see Rabastan's brother, Rodolphus emerge from a cell as well. Rabastan fell to his knees nearby. But she suspected it was the malnutrition and not any type of fealty.

"And Rodolphus, good to see you," Lord Voldemort responded. The man bowed to her, nearly falling over in the process, then looked up at her.

"My wife…is Bella…?" Rodolphus asked. Lord Voldemort gestured to a cell and Rodolphus moved toward it just as Bellatrix Lestrange stepped to the door. They hugged and Emily looked away, toward the approaching Augustus Rookwood.

"Master," Rookwood said, stepping toward her. He slipped as he moved and fell toward her. She caught him and put him on his feet carefully. Rookwood looked terrified as he was touching her, but she gave him a patient smile as she stepped back once he'd regained his balance.

"A patronus?" Bellatrix rasped. "I didn't think you could cast a patronus."

"There is no form of magic I cannot manage, Bellatrix," Lord Voldemort replied harshly.

"Yes Master," Bellatrix responded, swaying on her feet.

"What do we do now, Master?" Rookwood asked. He looked like he was close to falling over again.

"Recover," Lord Voldemort said. She reached into her robes and took out an old shoe. She offered it to Rookwood. He took it carefully into his hands.

"Master?" he asked.

"A portkey to Malfoy Manor. You are all too weak to be of use to me now. Recover there. Stay inside. Stay out of sight when necessary. And get your strength back," she ordered.

"Yes master," Rabastan responded.

"And take these," she offered the six wands she'd found on victims inside the prison. "If we can find your old ones, we will. But they were likely destroyed after the hearings. Take the portkey."

Every Death Eater who emerged reached for part of the shoe. Lord Voldemort stepped away from them.

"You aren't joining us, Master?" Bellatrix asked.

"I'll be around later. I have unfinished business here. Now go, the activation phrase is peacock," Lord Voldemot said. Rookwood spoke the phrase quietly and her Death Eaters disappeared from the prison. She turned her attention back to the dementors.

 _You were successful. Rid the chambers of that beast_.

"Oh you're ready to bargain now?" Lord Voldemort asked.

 _We needed to ascertain your worthiness_.

"No you didn't," she laughed. "You were trying to use me for your own gain."

 _Never!_

"You've already seen what I'm capable of," Lord Voldemort said. "And I'm stuck with an annoying decision. I can't very well just leave you talk to the ministry when they get here. But I can't trust you either."

 _We will be loyal_.

"Perhaps," Voldemort said. "Leave this place regardless. Go to the continent and feed as discreetly as possible. Return to me when you are strong enough to be of use."

 _Yes Master_.

And then they were gone. She watched them flee from Azkaban as a large herd. She walked back through the prison then, smirking to herself as the magic faded from around her. She returned to the entrance and stepped outside, back into the rain.

Lord Voldemort relished the feeling of success that rushed through her. There was a certain high that came from accomplishing a mission that should have been impossible. She laughed to herself as she summoned the broom she'd arrived on and flew off into the night.

Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower slowly, feeling like he'd lost a piece of himself with the locket. He knew he could probably get away with finding the headmaster tomorrow and asking for it back. But something about the entire situation just felt off to him. He tried to shake the feeling as he walked into the common room, but he couldn't.

He was barraged by his classmates as he entered the common room. They were all asking similar questions, how was he, how was his holiday, when was the next meeting of the D.A. He answered as vaguely as he could. Thankfully none of them seemed to have the faintest ideas on how exactly he spent his winter holiday.

He half wanted to tell them. Both to talk about it with someone, and to see just how they reacted when he did. He suspected the vast majority of students would have believed him for a second. Of course with the articles the Prophet was publishing it had taken most of the year for them to assume he wasn't crazy. If he started talking about going to plays with Emily Riddle, well, they'd assume he'd lost it. He hand wondered if they'd be right.

He threw himself down on a couch near where Hermione was rereading one of her essays for what Harry assumed was probably the thousandth time. She gazed over at him and looked like she wanted to chastise him about not doing homework. But she knew full well he was entirely done with his, and that he wouldn't be reading ahead in any of his textbooks.

Ron joined her after a moment. He distracted her by asking for help on the potions essay that he'd claimed he'd already done back at Headquarters. She chastised him for a moment before agreeing to help him with the work.

He ended up joining Colin Creevy and Dean Thomas for a couple of games of Gobstones. Colin beat them both times. And after that he felt tired enough to head off to bed. He stepped up the stairs and into his dormitory.

He changed into pajamas quickly before tossing himself onto the bed, barely avoiding the guardian dog he'd left there as he landed. It growled at him as he picked up the book, but he prodded it and pictured the entire bed as the new guard area. It slunk down to the foot of it and remained totally alert.

He picked up the diary and flipped the pages open, staring at the blank parchment before allowing himself to be sucked into the past.

Harry rejoined Emily exactly where she'd left her. She was looking rather nervous in her own home. Eventually she stepped to the fire and tossed some powder into it. She'd had it configured for floo calls, but not floo travel. She rang St. Mungos.

Harry heard her talk for a few moments with a receptionist. And then a few more moments with another soft voice. Eventually, though, she'd set up an appointment with a Healer Patel for the follow Thursday.

After that she paced around the house. Eventually she seemed to just grow frustrated with that. Eventually she took out her violin and sat in a chair in the living room, playing quietly as she did. She played for the rest of the afternoon and didn't stop as the sun set and Martin returned from work.

"I thought you were working until close tonight," he said as he left his briefcase near the door and started to remove his tie.

"Burke stayed late," she said, continuing to play. Martin nodded and gazed at the kitchen almost longingly but instead stepped toward their bedroom. He returned a few minutes later in more comfortable clothing and sat in a chair watching her play. She finished the song before setting the violin back in the case.

"I love hearing you play," Martin smiled as he spoke.

"I know," she said.

"So early day?" he asked again. She nodded.

"Yes," she said. She ran a hand through her hair and made a face. It was obvious to Harry that she wanted to tell him, but wasn't sure how to broach the subject as of yet. Martin looked a little worried at her short responses.

"What's going on?" he asked. She paused for a moment and looked at him, before taking a deep breath.

"Do you think you can get away from the office for an hour or so next Thursday around lunch time?" she asked. Martin eyed her carefully as he appeared to think about his schedule. Eventually he just nodded.

"I don't have any lunch meetings so I would think so. Why do you ask?" he asked, his eyes focusing on her.

"Would you like to accompany me to my hospital then?" she asked quickly. Martin's eyes went wide with anxiety and fear.

"What? Why? Are you ill? Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No. I'm," she hesitated. "I'm fine."

"Then why are we going to your hospital? The magical one I'm assuming?" Martin asked.

"Yes, the magical one," Emily said. She'd taken him to Diagon Alley before. And he'd been a bit overwhelmed by everything going on around him there. And she'd shown him Borgin and Burke's. But all-in-all he did not spend a great deal of time with her in the magical world.

"Well, you know how I had that flu that won't go away?" Emily asked.

"No. But you have mentioned not feeling well and you do look a little paler than normal," he said. Emily shot him a quick glare at the implication that she was pale but otherwise ignored it.

"Well I went to a clinic on my break today," Emily said.

"Oh God what's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "But the healer there recommended that I set up an appointment with a prenatal specialist."

"What?" Martin asked, staring at her, his eyes slowly going wide.

"I'm pregnant," she said quietly. "Or, well, probably pregnant at least."

"But, you're barren," Martin said. Emily winced away from the words.

"I was," she said. "I still haven't actually had a cycle since I was eighteen. So something must have changed in the last few weeks, according to the healer."

"How is that possible?" Martin asked. Emily sniffled a little and Harry wanted to curse the other man. She needed a hug and a smile, not an interrogation. He wondered how it was possible that he could tell that, but Martin Price couldn't.

"I don't know," Emily said. She sniffed again before continuing. "I honestly don't, Martin. Maybe the healer will. The one I saw said curses like that can wear off with time."

"How do they know?" Martin asked. "Shouldn't it still be too early tell?"

"They can tell with magic," Emily sniffed again.

"Is that dangerous?" Martin asked.

"No," Emily said. She looked away from him. Martin seemed to notice her for the first time then.

"Oh God Emily," he said. He rushed toward her and pulled her up into a hug.

"I thought you'd be happy," she said quietly. He held her for a few moments, stroking her hair gently as he did.

"I am happy," he said. "Just surprised."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive," he said. "It's not every day a man realizes he's going to be a father and have a beautiful child with a woman he absolutely loves. I'm thrilled, Emily. I'm sorry I reacted poorly."

"Even with what happened before?" Emily asked quietly. Martin remained silent for a few moments. He closed his eyes and just held onto her for a few moments. He spoke only after he opened his eyes and kissed the top of her head.

"You aren't her, Emily. You're much stronger than she was. Much more determined. I'm not worried about your health. You'll be fine. And you'll be a fantastic mother," Martin said, trying to sound as reassuring as he possibly could. He started to rub her back gently as he held her.

"You think so?" she asked. Her voice was quiet and Harry felt it sounded like she seemed far less certain of that than he did.

"Of course. You're kind, you're loving, you're patient," he said until he was interrupted by her stomach rumbling. "And you're hungry."

"I could so eat," she said.

"I'll make something," Martin said, he let her slip from his arms and moved toward the kitchen.

"I can do that," she responded.

"No," Martin said. "Tonight you can't. I'll do it. Why don't you play some more instead?" Emily frowned and looked like she wanted to argue, but rather than doing that she obeyed him. She reached for the violin case and took the instrument out of it once more and began playing.

She played something classical that Harry recognized, but had no idea what it was called. She played while he cooked pork chops. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the music. The memories flashed forward as she played.

Harry found himself standing outside of St. Mungo's later. He realized he was standing a few feet behind Emily and Martin as they moved to enter the building. Martin didn't seem to want to go inside and Emily had to pull him through the muggle repelling charms on the door. Once he was inside he seemed more normal.

She asked a receptionist at the front desk where her meeting with Healer Patel would take place. The receptionist took out a clipboard and made her fill out a few sheets before directing her to the sixth floor for Healer Patel. Harry watched as she dragged Martin to the elevator. He seemed more interested in examining everything that was going on around him that in getting to the sixth floor, but eventually they made it there.

They had to wait in a small lobby on the sixth floor, but after a few minutes they were taken to a small room where a middle-aged Indian woman in green robes started asking them a series of questions. Emily answered them unless the healer specifically asked Martin something.

It wasn't an overly long visit, and after a couple of spells Healer Patel confirmed that she was pregnant. Harry watched Emily's dimple reappear as she learned the news official. They then set up a couple of return appointments and went on their way.

Time passed, Harry saw her tell Borgin and Burke. Burke offered her what seemed to be a genuine congratulations, Brogin didn't seem particularly interested one way or another. They had dinner with Martin's parents and told them the news at that time. Emily seemed a little uncomfortable around Martin's parents. But Harry suspected that was simply because there was always a great deal of hugging involved and the only touch she seemed to tolerate was Martin's.

He watched her swell, for lack of a better term. She never really complained, though. Martin always seemed a little on edge, as if he expected her to snap at him or something similar, but she never did. In fact, she spent most of her time smiling and looking genuinely happy.

She was playing the violin one night when Martin returned from work. He looked at her for a moment, his expression confused.

"Did you forget about dinner with my parents tonight?" Martin asked. Martin's mother was in the early stages of planning a shower for her and Emily didn't seem overly thrilled with that. Although Harry suspected that was because when she was the center of attention people always wanted to touch her stomach and she often looked like she'd rather curse them.

"No," Emily said quietly. "I was just feeling a little blimpy and got distracted by the violin."

"Oh," Martin frowned. "Do you want me to call them and tell them you're not feeling well? I'm sure they'll understand." He stepped over toward her as she stood up. She seemed to think about it for a moment but shook her head.

"No. I'll be fine. Just let me shower and change. Actually. Help me shower?" she asked.

"Always," Martin laughed and moved with her to the bathroom. He washed her slowly and when they were finished they dressed for a night on the town. She tucked her wand into a small black purse and left the home with him, venturing out into the cool autumn evening.

Their dinner wasn't eventful. They chatted happily with Martin's parents. The conversations mostly about politics and work. They left the restaurant rather late in the evening. Martin's parents climbed into a cab while Emily and Martin decided to walk. After a block or so Martin spoke up.

"Have you given any more thought to names?" he asked.

"Some. You?" Emily responded quietly, her hand slipping into his as they walked.

"Well I still like James for a boy," Martin said.

"You and every other couple on the face of the planet," Emily scoffed.

"I suppose it is fairly common," Martin said as they turned a corner and continued walking. "What about Tom?"

"No," Emily said quickly and very sternly. Almost too quickly, really. Martin raised an eyebrow at her but seemed to thin better of asking about it any further.

"Okay," Martin said. "Well do you have any suggestions?"

"Not really," Emily frowned. "I'm no good with names. I'd do something Latin, like Quintus."

"That's horrible," Martin laughed.

"I told you I was bad at this," Emily said her tone was harsh but she smiled.

"How about Harry?" he asked. Harry paused as he walked behind them in the memory and blinked. At first he thought someone outside of the memory had said his name. But then Emily responded.

"Harry isn't bad. I kind of like Harry," she said.

"Well let's put that at the top for boys now. What about girls?" Martin asked.

"You first," Emily said.

"Well I like Amelia," Martin said.

"Too close to Emily," Emily responded.

"That's why I like it," Martin laughed. "It comes from Emily. Get it?"

"You are horrible," Emily laughed.

"Well what do you like?" he asked. She pressed her lips together as she thought about it.

"Olivia or Vivian," Emily said.

"I like Vivian," Martin said.

"Well let's put that at the top of the girls list then," Emily said.

"So Harry and Vivian," Martin said, nodding. "Both great contenders. They do sound good together too."

"I am so going on a contraceptive potion as soon as this one is out of me," Emily scoffed, but again, her eyes were bright and playful and Harry didn't think Martin would have a very hard time convincing her to go off that potion.

"Meanie," Martin said. Emily rolled her eyes.

"You know we can find out the gender whenever," she responded.

"I like the mystery," Martin said. "And since someone can color change anything with a flick of a stick it seems silly to worry."

"I like the mystery too," Emily responded. They kept walking in silence. She tilted her head toward his shoulder as they moved, taking his arm rather than his hand as she did. Some light snow started falling, clinging into their hair but melting almost instantly.

Harry saw the men approach them before they noticed. One of them stepped right through him as they walked. Two more approached from the front. They all looked rough, hungry, and fairly desperate.

"Purse, necklace wallets. Rings too," the front man said. He held a luger pistol on Martin. Martin held up his hand as Emily stiffened away from him, she moved her own hand toward her open purse.

"Okay," Martin said, reaching back for his wallet. Emily reached her hand toward her purse slowly.

"Stop," the man behind them said as he pressed his own gun into Emily's back. Emily froze. Harry saw her expression change. He saw her realize she had no control. While he'd seen her fight before, she'd never entered a fight with the odds so stacked against her to start. Her eyes went wild and her gaze shot to Martin.

"Martin I _need_ my purse," Emily said quietly as he took out his wallet. To Harry's surprise Martin seemed to pick up on it.

"Let her take her medication out. She's pregnant man, let her take what she needs. We don't want trouble," Martin said as the second man before them snatched his wallet away and gestured to his watch. Martin nodded and started to take it off, shakily.

"Fine," the first man said. "But jewels first. Locket. Rings."

"No," Emily said stiffly.

"I said rings! Jewelry!" the first man said, he turned and pointed the gun hard at Emily.

"Hey!" Martin said, shifting his body between the man and Emily. But the quick movement made the man's hand twitch back toward Martin. And Harry heard the shot ring out in the dark. And Harry saw Martin fall to the ground, gurgling for air, his hands flashing toward his sternum.

"No!" Emily shrieked. She lashed out with her free hand toward the first man. A force of energy hit him, knocking him back a few feet. But as soon as she moved the other two men fired. Harry heard the shots ring out in quick succession and he saw her eyes go wide, her hand flash to her stomach. He watched her purse fall off of her arm and land on the ground next to her.

"Grab what you can," the third man said to the second as he went to check on the first. The second man grabbed her purse, ripped the locket off of her neck as she reached out for him, fury in her slowly fading eyes. He knocked her hands away and then peeled off her wedding ring before they fled the scene.

Harry watched as Emily collapsed onto Martin. She pressed her hands into his sternum, seemed to try to use magic. But as soon as she got to him her eyes closed and the memories went black.

Harry pulled himself from the diary then. He picked the book up in his hands and stared at it for a moment. Eventually he got out of bed. The dormitory was quiet by then. He put the guardian lion and the diary on his bedside table and grabbed his invisibility cloak from his trunk.

He stepped down the stairs and into the empty common room. He sat for a few moments on the couch, staring at the embers fading out of the fire. He didn't know exactly what to think. He could still see the blood spilling from her and Martin clearly in his mind.

Had that been it? Had that been the single event that had effectively ruined his life? He paused as that thought flashed through his mind. His life? No. That hadn't ruined his life. That much he could say. After what he'd seen he knew better. It would never just be one thing. It was everything. And there was still more to come, he knew.

He stared out over the grounds and wondered why he felt so empty. Why everything felt so wrong. Why there was bile rising in his throat. Eventually, only one thing came into his mind. He needed a drink. He stepped out of the common room, shrugging the invisibility cloak over his shoulders, and hoped that Dobby had strong alcohol on hand.

If not, maybe he could sneak into the Hog's Head.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Chapter 21

Dobby wouldn't give him any alcohol. Well, that wasn't strictly the truth. Dobby looked like he probably would have given him some booze. But the other house elves got rather affronted when he asked for it and pushed him out of the kitchens with a couple of scones. So it wasn't a totally wasted trip, but the scones certainly hadn't made him feel any better.

He frowned as he threw the cloak back over his shoulders and looked at his watch. It wasn't quite midnight yet, and he didn't want to head back up to bed, despite being fairly tired. So instead he wandered toward the Entrance Hall.

Nothing stopped him from stepping out onto the grounds. For a moment, he cursed himself for leaving the Marauder's Map in his dormitory. But he was invisible so he'd work with that. He walked down the path toward Hogsmead. It was a cold night, but it wasn't completely unbearable. He didn't bother with any of the secret passageways and instead just took the lane straight into town. It was an empty, lonely walk, but Harry didn't mind it at all.

He didn't take the cloak off as he entered the town. It was fairly empty, some lights coming from a few of the buildings, but not many. The Three Broomsticks was already closed but the other pub in town still had light spilling out into the street.

He took his invisibility cloak off and stepped toward The Hog's Head. He stepped up toward the bar, a few of the patrons looking at him, and took a seat. In Chicago he'd been a bit surprised by Emily's ability so simply walk in, go where she wanted, and find bar stools. She'd said that it was just a matter of confidence and here he'd attempted it.

The bartender, a familiar looking old man that Harry remembered from the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army, looked up from the glass he was washing and appraised Harry for a moment.

"You're a little young to be in here at this hour," the bartender said.

"Probably," Harry said carefully. "You seem to be the only establishment still open, though."

"That happens on a Sunday night," the bartender responded. He checked his watch and gazed around the bar. Besides Harry there were five other patrons littered around the bar. Harry watched one couple, looking rather happily drunk, pick at some roasted potatoes and giggle at each other at a table in the corner.

He let his eyes shift to another young man in the corner, scribbling at some notes. Harry would have sworn that he recognized the boy as a seventh year Ravenclaw, but he turned his attention back to the bartender after a moment and asked carefully.

"Can I get a drink?" he let his voice trail off a little bit at the end of the sentence, fully expecting a hard 'no' from the old man.

"What's your poison?" the bartender asked. Harry paused and realized he didn't really have an answer to that.

"I've only really ever had wine and champagne," Harry admitted quietly. The bartender looked at him for a few moments before putting down the glass and the rag he was using to wash it. He grabbed a bottle from behind the bar, along with a fresh glass. He put the glass down in front of Harry and poured no more than a mouthful of golden liquid into it and then stared at Harry expectantly.

Harry reached out and picked up the glass. He sniffed at the golden liquid inside for a moment, it smelled like honey. He drank it in one mouthful. It had the familiar burn of alcohol, but it wasn't altogether unpleasant. In fact, he rather enjoyed it.

"That's good," he said. The bartender laughed.

"Better than the fruity version they serve at the other bar," he scoffed and filled Harry's glass about halfway. Harry took another sip and the barman returned to cleaning the same glass. Judging from the state of it, Harry seriously doubted it was ever clean.

The couple at one of the tables flagged down the barman and he took out two bottles that Harry didn't recognize the label on and walked over to them. The barman put them down on the table without exchanging words with the couple and moved back behind the bar.

Harry gazed around and realized that being out alone was a great deal more boring than being out with someone. He thought he should have brought a book or something to work on, like the Ravenclaw in the corner. But he didn't have anything of that nature. So instead he just sipped at whatever he was drinking and lost himself in thought.

Thought turned to fantasy rather quicker than it should have. Instead of thinking about what he should do, or how stupid he was being by being out at the tavern at night, or how stupid he'd been for not sneaking out to the village more often than he did, instead he thought of what he'd rather be doing.

He wondered if Emily would have brought him back yet. He honestly wasn't sure one way or another. It would have still been early evening in Chicago, so there would have been time. But he wondered just how he could have snuck back into Hogwarts. Then again, he'd snuck out just by walking out the front door, so perhaps it wouldn't have been as difficult as he imagined.

Still, he had to think Dumbledore would have been quite shocked had he just shown up at his first class on Monday morning. That alone must have been worth it. He wondered just what chaos would have ensued if he'd done that.

But still, it seemed like Dumbledore had gone to some effort to keep his location away from Umbridge. Or even that he'd been missing. And that would have given her some type of confirmation of that. He wondered if the ministry would have been able to somehow use that against the headmaster.

He still felt that Dumbledore would be the lesser of the two evils and he didn't want to be the one responsible for Umbridge having a reason to get rid of the headmaster. And Harry suspected that was her endgame as getting Albus Dumbledore out of Hogwarts seemed like something that the Ministry would be interested in doing.

Harry let his eyes wander around the bar again, thinking that he should have at least asked Ron to join him. Sure it was getting harder to fit multiple people under the invisibility cloak, but it was far from impossible. And some company would have been nice.

But he didn't have any company, and he wasn't sure he really as ready to discuss everything that had happened with Ron. He wasn't even really sure how to go about such a conversation.

But Ron wouldn't ask. Harry knew that much. It wasn't that his friend didn't care to know. In fact Ron was probably quite desperate to know. But Ron always seemed to be able to tell when Harry was ready to talk about something, and when it was better to just play chess or go flying.

Hermione was the polar opposite of that though. She'd badger and question him until he just got annoyed and told them everything. And she would have never agreed to go to a bar with them anyway. Although, meeting at the Hog's Head had been her idea. He half wondered if she had a bit of a hidden wild side to her.

He laughed at the thought. But then he thought about it more and shook his head. Emily had been a quiet, studious brunette too. And she'd pretty much conned a soldier into giving her a bath and then slept with him. And some of the things he'd seen her do after there were certainly not things he'd associate with a timid bookworm.

But that just made him think about whether or not Hermione would ever attempt those same things. And in turn that just made him think about Hermione doing those things. And those were thoughts he didn't really want at the forefront of his mind. So he thought about anything other than Hermione.

His first thought was drink. So he brought the golden liquid to his lips again and took a large sip of it. He smiled as the alcohol in it warmed him. It was enough of a distraction that he stopped thinking about Hermione.

That didn't; however, prevent his mind from wandering back to bathtubs. He hadn't gone back and re-watched anything in the diary yet, although he was pretty positive he could if he wanted to. In his mind, though, he could still see the water dripping off of young Emily as she stood up from the copper tub.

He took another sip from his drink and tried to not think about that either. There probably wasn't anything wrong with thinking about it. But it still made him uncomfortable, especially in public. Although he did doubt anyone was peeking into his mind while he sat on a stool at the Hog's Head.

He let his mind wander through her memories then. He thought of how she looked before fighting Grindelwald, the sheer determination on her face as she realized she had to defeat him.

She obviously hadn't been able to. Really she hadn't been able to get close. But she never hesitated to fight. There wasn't even a thought to her. It was just something she'd had to do. And it had gained her really nothing more than a shiny medal she'd throw into a trunk and never looked at again.

That and the ire of a man whom she had the audacity to help. He'd ruined her for some reason, a reason Harry was wise enough to know that he hadn't admitted to when asked. Whatever was there between Albus Dumbledore and Emily Riddle, he knew he hadn't scratched the surface of it.

He took another sip of his drink and pondered what would have been. He'd never really thought about destiny or prophecy or anything of that nature much before. But Emily had told him that they were looking for a prophecy. And she'd told him the contents of it. But did that really matter? She seemed to think it did. Perhaps not directly as she was convinced that it was fulfilled, but still, that meant she gave it some credence.

He'd never really thought about that. It confused him, if he was honest. How much choice did that take out of every equation? Harry didn't like that notion. He didn't like to think he had no control over himself.

He frowned at his drink as his mind ventured further down the rabbit hole. At what point, he wondered, would his life have been different? What single action could have swayed everything in another direction? Was there even one? If Professor Dippet had allowed Emily to stay at Hogwarts over the summers, would that have done it?

Or if Dumbledore hadn't let her go with him to Europe at the end of the war? Would that have done it? He had a hard time believing she wouldn't have been able to get a job more like the one she'd originally wanted had she not gone to Europe. Would that have done it?

Yet that wouldn't have taken her to Japan. What would have happened had she not witnessed Hiroshima and Nagasaki? And she didn't see to dislike working for Borgin and Burke. In fact, she seemed to be quite good at it. Then again, he didn't think she'd ever shown herself to be bad at anything.

Or would it have been as simple as her deciding that she really hadn't felt like going out that evening. What would have happened had Martin convinced her to stay home that evening. Could a simple bribe of cuddling on the couch to change all of history? Was that really all it would have taken?

Harry wondered if Harry and Vivian Price would have overlapped with James Potter and Lily Evans at Hogwarts. He wasn't sure of the exact year in his head, but he thought the first child would have been too old to be at Hogwarts during his parent's time. But if they'd had a second one a few years after? Would they have been friends? Would they have even been aware of each other in the least?

Harry shook those thoughts out of his head. There wasn't any reason to dwell on all of that. None of that had actually happened. All that mattered, all that really pertained to him, is what had happened. He couldn't go back and change everything and he doubted he would even if he could.

Instead he went to take another sip of his drink, despite knowing full well that alcohol wasn't going to lead to a clearer thought process. But when he looked down at his drink it was empty.

He gazed up and looked around the bar, intending to rectify that issue. The Ravenclaw had left but the couple was still sitting at the table. The bartender was in the corner of the bar, peering up at the bottles on a shelf, doing what Harry could only assume was a visual inventory.

The man seemed to feel his gaze though, as after just a moment he waved his wand at the same bottle he'd used before and it floated over toward Harry and refilled his glass. Harry thanked the barman, who simply nodded and returned to his inventory.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that the man actually came over to speak to him.

"So you're the one who has Albus in a tizzy," the man said. Harry blinked at him and wondered just how the older man was on a first name basis with the headmaster. Then again, adults seemed to do that so he supposed it wasn't that unusual. Of course, even worse than that, he was on a first name basis with Lord Voldemort, so he figured he shouldn't comment.

"I guess," Harry said, taking a sip of the drink. "Is Professor Dumbledore in here often?"

"Usually once a week," the man responded.

"Oh," Harry said, gazing around the bar.

"He rarely comes in on Sunday evenings," the bartender responded, as if he could sense the next question.

"Good to know," Harry responded.

"He usually ignores students he sees too, unless they're making a fuss," the bartender responded.

"I don't think he'd ignore me," Harry said, wondering if that sounded completely arrogant of him.

"I think you're probably right," the man responded.

"You going to tell him I was here?" Harry asked.

"Hadn't planned on it unless it becomes necessary," the man responded.

"What would make it necessary?" Harry asked. He took another sip of his drink and stared at the old man's blue eyes. He was suddenly feeling rather tense.

"If it becomes necessary you'll have far bigger problems to worry about," the man responded.

"Fair enough," Harry said.

"So what brings Harry Potter into my bar, alone, on a Sunday evening?" the bartender asked.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry lied. "And I think my brain is still in a different time zone."

"Understandable," the old man said. "International travel will do that to the best of us."

"So how long have you run this place?" Harry asked.

"A long time," the barman chuckled under his breath. "Your father and Sirius Black used to sneak in here from their sixth year on. And your grandfather once or twice as well."

"Do you remember everyone who sneaks in?" Harry asked.

"No," The barman responded. "Just the important ones or the good tippers."

"Do you remember Emily Riddle?" Harry asked, blurting it out before he could really think about what he had said. The barman paused and put the glass he was still cleaning down on the bar.

"That's a name I haven't heard in a very long time," the barman said.

"So you remember her?" Harry said.

"I do," the barkeep responded.

"What did you think?" Harry asked.

"That's an interesting question," the man said.

"Well you know what happened to her?" Harry said. The bartender frowned at the glass. He grabbed a clean one from nearby and filled it with the same mead Harry was drinking. He slammed it back and poured himself another before refilling Harry's glass.

"More or less," the barman said.

"Well what did you think of her?" Harry asked.

"She was quiet," the barman said gruffly. "Never really one to talk to the bartender for more than a drink."

"So you didn't know much about her," Harry responded.

"I know she started coming in around the end of her fifth year. And I know that she liked wine a little too much for a girl her age. She always came in more toward the spring than the fall," the barman said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I suspect she didn't want to go home. She asked me for a summer job once," the barman responded.

"And you didn't give it to her?" he asked.

"No need for extra hands in the summer, we're quiet then," he responded.

"And that's all you know of her?" Harry asked.

"No," the barman responded. "But we never really spoke much. And she never really offered deep insight into herself. She wasn't much of a talker."

"Well tell me anyway," Harry said.

"Why do you want to know?" the barman asked. He stared at Harry for a moment, sipping his drink as he did. Harry did the same with his own.

"Just curious," Harry said.

"Curiosity is dangerous, boy," the barkeep said.

"I still want to know," Harry responded.

"There really isn't much to tell," the bartender said. He took a sip of his mead before continuing. "Like I said, she came in toward the end of terms more often than not. And she drank probably more than I should have let her. But she didn't cause trouble so I didn't comment."

"Is that your policy?" Harry asked, looking down at his own mead.

"More often than not," he said. "Students get into trouble regardless. Supervised trouble is better than non-supervised."

"I see," Harry said.

"Anyway. The only think I really remember is that she always seemed sad. She was usually alone. Once or twice she'd duck in with a girlfriend. They'd often seem more interested in leaving than anything else. She never came in with a boy. She always managed to seem alone, regardless," he said.

"You remember that?" Harry responded.

"Yes. She had a great smile with one distinct dimple. But it was so rare to actually see it. Here or there you could make her laugh. But moments later she'd go back to looking dour. Ages ago they'd have said she had an excess of melancholy. That's rubbish, of course. But there was something there," he said.

"And no idea what?" Harry asked.

"I'd guess some type of abuse," the man said.

"Oh," Harry said.

"The signs were all there," the barman said. "Not that we were looking. But the signs were all there."

"Like what?" Harry asked. The barman frowned and waved a hand at him.

"Maybe I'm just reading into it what I thought I saw years ago," the man said. "You have to understand I'm just speculating here."

"I know," Harry said.

"Well she seemed almost afraid of friendship, of any type of intimacy. She didn't even really like to converse with me when she could avoid it. If she asked a question it was blunt and looking for an immediate answer," the bartender explained.

"Like anti-social?" Harry asked.

"I guess," the man responded. "But she never really seemed anxious or uncomfortable. Just like she didn't really want to interact with anyone. It got better in her final year, she seemed more normal then. But still, never any close companions."

"I see. And did you know what happened to her after school?" Harry asked.

"Only vaguely," the man said. "Last I heard of Emily Riddle she'd gotten married and was working at a shop in Diagon Alley."

"So you don't know who she was?" Harry asked.

"I just told you who Emily Riddle was, boy," the barkeep said, his eyes flashed with something close to anger for a moment.

"But," Harry started, but the bartender waved him away.

"And if you're here any later I suspect they'll come looking for you," the man said.

"They don't even know I'm gone," Harry said.

"They might not," the man responded. "But it is past closing time and I'm eager to lock up."

"Oh," Harry said. He looked around the bar and realized it was now totally empty. He nodded and stood up, digging some coins from his pocket and leaving them on the bar. The man nodded in a way that indicated to Harry it was enough money. "Thanks for talking."

"Any time," the bartender said. "Do you need help getting back to the castle?"

"I'll be fine," Harry said.

"You sure?" the man asked, staring skeptically at him.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Well if you're caught out, you weren't here. The last thing I need is that Umbridge woman poking around again," the man said.

"I don't even know where here is," Harry said, smiling at the man.

"Good," the man said. "Good night."

"You too," Harry responded before turning to exit the bar.

He threw the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and walked slowly out of Hogsmead. The small town was completely dead in the early morning hour. He didn't bother trying for any of the secret passages and instead returned to school the exact way he'd came.

It was well past three in the morning when he finally stepped back into the fifth-year dormitory in Gryffindor tower. He stared at his temple dog, guarding Emily's diary on his bedside table. Part of him wanted to go back in. But a larger part of him simply wanted to sleep. So he crawled into bed. He rolled onto his side, cuddling with one of his blankets, before letting the warm comfort of sleep overtake him.

The dormitory was empty when he woke up. He took his time in getting down to breakfast, not really sure that he was ready to deal with other people. The mood in the Great Hall seemed rather somber when he entered. But he ignored it and moved to Gryffindor table, wondering really what the hushed whispers were about.

Harry slid onto the bench at the Gryffindor table, seating himself next to Hermione who was muttering to herself in an agitated sort of way while reading the paper. Harry hadn't quite understood why she continued to read the paper daily, when all it did was agitate her. But he figured he was much safer if he didn't comment.

So rather than initiating any sort of conversation about whatever todays annoyance was, he instead started shoveling food onto his plate. He took some sausages and some eggs before gazing around the table, idly wondering if there was any chorizo to be found. When there wasn't any, he settled for instead filling his goblet with pumpkin juice and starting his breakfast.

It wasn't until his third bite that Hermione sensed his presence.

"Harry have you seen this?!" she asked, throwing the paper down in front of him.

"No," he responded dryly. He didn't really look at, choosing instead to focus on his breakfast.

"Harry!" Hermione scoffed impatiently. Harry looked up from his plate at her.

"What are they saying about me today?" he asked.

"Nothing," Hermione scoffed, slapping the paper as it rested on the table near him. "It's about Sirius!"

"Oh?" Harry said. She'd piqued his interest but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. He turned his gaze from his breakfast toward the paper and gazed at the screaming faces that adorned the front page. He swallowed hard, somehow understanding just what it was before even reading the paper.

"The paper is saying he orchestrated a mass break out from Azkaban!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I see that," Harry said.

"The Death Eaters are free!" Hermione hissed at him. She smacked her hand down on the table as she did. Harry kept his eyes on her.

"And what do you want me to do about that?" Harry asked. To his immediate surprise, she looked at a loss for words.

"What?" she asked.

"What do you want me to do about it?" he asked again, his words sounding harsher than he intended them to be. "Do you expect me to run off and round them up?"

"Well no," Hermione frowned.

"It was only a matter of time before she got them out. Everyone knew that," Harry said. "And it's not like blaming me or Sirius isn't how the paper has handled everything else."

"Harry there has to be something we can do!" Hermione said.

"Like what, raving in class so I get another month worth of detentions?" Harry said.

"Well no," Hermione said. "But still there has to be something we could do."

"If there is I'm at a loss," Harry said.

"Maybe we should tell more people about her," Ron suggested. "Like info from the journal?"

"No," Harry said possessively.

"Just a thought," Ron said with a frown.

"I don't think anything in the journal, at least that I've seen so far, would do much to sway people against her," Harry said.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Whatever made her evil hasn't happened yet," Harry said. It was an odd thought to have. As in his mind, he thought perhaps, maybe, it had. But he couldn't possibly be sure.

"Lord Voldemort wasn't evil?" Ron laughed at the thought.

"Well she's not going by Lord Voldemort yet," Harry said.

"It's actually an interesting thought," Hermione said.

"I'm not sharing the diary with everyone. It's not like anyone would believe me anyway," Harry said.

"No, not the diary," Hermione said, and she stood quickly and looked around the Great Hall.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked. "We have an hour before Umbridge."

"Professor Umbridge, Mr. Weasley," Professor Umbridge said from behind them. Hermione slipped away from the table. The defense professor stood behind them. She watched Hermione go, but seemed to think better of saying anything.

"Sorry Professor," Ron said quietly. He turned his attention back to his food, slumping his shoulders and hoping that she decided embarrassment was punishment enough. Everyone at the Gryffindor table leaned away from Umbridge.

"And what do you have there, Mr. Potter," she said sweetly behind him. Harry looked down at the paper and his food. He debated being flippant about his breakfast, but figured that he'd have to put up with her tormenting him through class regardless so he answered honestly.

"The morning paper," he said.

"And do you have anything to say about it?" she asked in the same sickly sweet tone.

"I haven't looked at it," Harry said. "I was just waiting for Hermione to finish with it so I could check the quidditch boxes."

"Always quidditch isn't it?" she asked. "I'd have thought you'd be more interested in a realistic future."

"Plenty of people are interested in quidditch scores," Harry said. "I don't see how carrying about the league really affects my future one way or the other." He made a show of flipping the paper to the sports section, completely ignoring the front page story. Umbridge opened her mouth but Ron spoke first.

"Chudley win?" he asked.

"Yes, amazingly enough," Harry said. "Two-Twenty to One-Ninety over Appleby,"

"How about the Pride?" Seamus asked from his other side.

"Crushed by Falmouth, lost by two-fifty," Harry responded, his eyes gazing over the numbers on the paper.

"And Ballycastle?" Neville asked.

"Lost by fifty to Holyhead," Harry said. He looked back up at Professor Umbridge. Part of him wanted to be flippant, to ask her if there was a score she was interested in. She was beat red as she stared at him. But she didn't say anything. Instead she stormed off back to the staff table. Harry watched her go, knowing full well he was going to have to be particularly on guard in her class later that morning.

Umbridge hadn't been any more particularly vile when she taught that day. At least her vehemence hadn't been directed at him. He just put his head down when talk of the Death Eaters escaping came up. He didn't even listen to her explanations. He knew they'd only irritate him. So he ignored it all.

She seemed to take it as a minor victory. And Harry figured it was best to just let her have it. He spent the rest of the day with Dumbledore's Army members coming up to him and asking when they would have their next meeting. They all seemed very eager to get back to work after the news of the day.

Harry told them to pay attention to the coins and that Hermione would arrange their next meeting. That didn't really satisfy most of his friends, but he didn't know what else to tell them as he wasn't the one that bothered keeping track of their schedules.

They did meet a few days later, and Harry started going over some of the dueling tactics that Emily had showed him in Chicago, it was a rather rigorous lesson and many of the students left nursing minor wounds. Harry made a mental note to look into more healing spells, figuring those would be handy for the days to come.

He couldn't sleep when he returned to the dormitory that night. That occurrence was growing annoyingly more common. He slipped the diary out from underneath the stone dog he kept on the bedside table. He flipped it open to the marked page and stared blankly at the parchment for a few moments before everything around him slipped to black.

It stayed black for what felt like a very long time. By now he knew time didn't quite pass the same way in the diary as it did in reality. But it still felt like a very long time. Here and there he thought he could hear some sort of hustle and bustle going on around him, but no images came through.

Eventually, though, the world slowly came into focus. It was blurry and unclear for a few moments, but it slowly became more coherent.

Emily lay on a hospital bed, there were tubes coming out of her left arm. She looked at them blearily, as if not sure what she was seeing. After a moment she looked away from them and around the room.

The only other occupant, aside from his ghostly self, was a vaguely familiar looking woman slumped in a chair in the corner. She was clearly asleep in a position that Harry suspected she would regret in the morning.

Harry watched as Emily tried to sit up in the bed. She struggled for a moment, wincing in pain, coughing slightly, but she was unable to pull herself up. Her cough, though, woke the woman sleeping in the chair.

"Don't get up," the woman said fearfully. Emily turned her head and looked at her with a blank expression. Instead she opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The woman rose from the chair and moved quickly to the hospital bed. She seemed to realize Emily wasn't able to say anything.

"I'll go get the nurse on duty," the woman said before she rushed out of the room and down the hall. Emily tried to say something in response, but no words came out. She raised her right hand slowly and pressed it to her forehead before glaring at the tubes coming out of her left.

Harry tried to peer out the doorway to see where the woman had gone, but it was just a cloudy abyss. So instead he went back to watching Emily. She seemed content to wait.

It only took a moment for the woman to return with a white-clad nurse. The nurse said nothing, but instead checked Emily over quickly.

"The doctor will be in shortly," the nurse said. Emily just nodded. The nurse offered her a cup with a straw in it. Emily sipped from it for a moment before the nurse took it away. Emily glared at the woman as she swallowed.

"Thirsty," she said, her voice parched. The nurse nodded.

"We need to be careful with what you eat or drink," the nurse said. "The doctor will go over everything shortly."

"Martin," she said quietly, her hand fluttered toward her stomach. The nurse put a hand on her left, preventing it from moving, but Harry saw her wince when her right rested on her stomach. She looked down in alarm as if seeing her body for the first time.

"Emily, he's, he's," the other woman said softly, sniffing.

"Oh," Emily said. She stared down at herself.

"You lost her," the nurse said.

"Oh," Emily said again. And then she collapsed onto the bed and everything flashed black again. There were images, flashes of words, but nothing remotely coherent. Harry couldn't really tell how time was passing.

She woke briefly and a muggle doctor tried to talk to her. She nodded a lot but the words in the memory were a jumbled mess. Harry suspected that Emily had no idea what the man was saying, or what he was trying to explain to her. Instead he kept talking and she just lay there looking dazed. Eventually she passed out again.

He watched as Healer Patel and Burke found her in the muggle hospital. They talked, Patel made he drink quite a few potions and examined her repeatedly with magic before she seemed satisfied. Burke kept trying to get her to talk, but Emily mostly just sat there quietly and answered direct questions in as few words as possible.

Burke seemed to spend a great deal of time there. In fact he seemed to be there every minute that one of Martin's parents wasn't. He often didn't do more than sit by her bed. And Emily mostly ignored his presence. But every now and again they would talk quietly, although not really about anything. Burke just seemed interested in making her at least act human. And talking seemed to be part of that.

Harry noticed that he was more successful at getting her to eat than Mrs. Price had been on her attempts. But she didn't eat much even when they convinced her to.

The muggle doctors seemed surprised by her recovery and eventually she managed to leave the hospital under her own power, although she didn't move very quickly as Martin's parents accompanied her out of the building.

He watched her attend the funeral. She looked like a ghost during the majority of it, simply staring blankly at people from between Martin Price's parents, tears streaming down her face. After Harry stood behind her, wishing he could hug her, as she stared at the tombstones. The names Martin Price and Amelia Price were carved into the gray stone.

Martin's mother stayed with her for a couple of weeks. Emily mostly wandered around the house and looked lost. She didn't really eat, or talk, or do anything. Often she'd spend the day curled on the couch in their front room, staring out the large picture window with unfocused eyes.

Eventually she went back to work. It seemed to be a relief to Mrs. Price. One day she'd just woken up and seemed to be ready to move on with her life. But it felt wrong for Harry, like she was acting and not serious. Like really, she just wanted the older woman to leave.

And once she did, Emily reverted back. She still went to the shop on the days she was supposed to, but she barely talked to Burke and absolutely ignored Borgin. And she was nowhere near as charming with customers as he'd seen her before. In fact, she spent most of her time at the shop reading through the old spell books they had on the bookshelves in the corner.

Burke watched her while she did, often from the back of the store with a concerned expression on his face. He didn't say anything to her, but he looked like he wanted to. He frowned a lot but didn't seem to be able to think of anything to say.

Harry stood behind her in the shop and tried to read her current book over her shoulder, but the text was faded and didn't appear to be in English. Still, she didn't seem to be having any trouble with it as she paged through. Eventually she looked up at the clock and stood to leave, taking the book with her. Burke opened his mouth but closed it as she walked out of the door.

Harry walked with her back to her house. She put the book down on the coffee table and made herself a very boring dinner. After she cleaned with a flick of her wand and sat on the couch and took out her violin. She played for about an hour before turning her attention back to the book and continued reading.

She continued reading until well into the evening before eventually heading off to bed. She bathed before heading to bed. She didn't sleep though. She just rolled around and fought with the pillows. Again, Harry wished he could just hold her, whisper to her that she would be alright. But he couldn't touch her.

Eventually she gave up and moved to the couch with a blanket and a pillow. Her routine continued like that. Harry watched because he didn't know what else he could do. She read spell books constantly, clearly looking for something, and clearly never finding it. Eventually, Burke managed to talk to her here or there, to ask her what she was looking for. She wouldn't answer him though.

One night, though, she must have found it. She stared at the page, reading casually, and then she did a double take. Harry watched as she sat up and peered at it more. Then put the book down on the coffee table and sat up. She read the same page five or six times before she took her wand and summoned a cauldron.

She peered at the pages as she started summoning ingredients. Eventually, she apparated away. Harry found himself with her in Knockturn Alley. She ducked into a potion shop and bought some ingredients before apparating straight out of the shop and back home. In the memory Harry found it incredibly disorienting. She put the ingredients into the cauldron and turned her attention to the book.

She tapped the last ingredient listed on the ancient pages a few times with her index finger. She frowned down at it but seemed to realize that she wasn't going to come up with a solution that night so instead she turned to the other ingredients listed. She frowned down at the page for a moment, but she seemed to not be able to come up with anything more that evening, so again she slept as the cauldron bubbled.

It took her four days to come up with the final ingredient. Harry saw her eyes light up while she read from a vile looking tome at work. She stared down at the page, caressing it with her left hand, letting her fingers trace over the page. And then she smiled and stood. She left the shop without a word to Borgin or Burke. Burke stepped out into the alley after her, but she apparated away as he stepped onto the street.

Harry followed her as she appeared back in her bedroom. He watched as she dug out black dueling leathers similar to those that she'd worn at the end of the war. It was too large on her now. She seemed to frown at that in the mirror. But she shrank them to fit her form.

He looked at her as she slipped a black cloak on over the armor. Harry noticed she looked thinner than he'd ever seen her, her face sunken, her eyes pale and hallow. She pulled her hair back into a tail and took a deep breath before pulling the hood of the cloak up over her head. She stared in the mirror for ten seconds before she stepped toward Martin's office.

She paused when she entered the room, bracing herself against the wall as she looked around. But eventually she stepped toward the wall mounted sword. She took it off of the mount and unsheathed it. She tested the edge of the blade with her finger before slamming the sheath shut. A moment later she apparated away.

Harry joined her on a cool London street. It was evening, the sun already set, and misting. The rain didn't bother Harry in the slightest, but it looked like it irritated Emily some. She walked through the streets quietly, looking for something. Harry didn't recognize where she walked.

She walked for what felt like hours but eventually she found her prey. Harry recognized the three men immediately and he winced as he realized just what he was about to witness.

The men were laughing and flushed with drink as they stepped into an alley. Emily followed them in. A silent flash of green light dropped the first one before the other two even noticed. A second flash killed the second one.

"What the fuck?" the final man asked as his friend collapsed at his side. He turned and stared at Emily in the alley, taking the luger from his hip as he did. Emily stepped toward him and he fired the gun.

This time, the flash from the muzzle was met with a blinding flash from near Emily. She kept walking toward him, her wand leveled on him. Once he stopped firing she spoke.

"Accio pistol," she said and it flew toward her. She made no move to catch it though instead choosing to let it fly past her.

"I shot you," the man said as Emily stepped toward him.

"You did," Emily responded. "And you killed my husband."

"You should be dead," he said. But then he seemed to gather his courage and he charged toward her, seeming to figure that he could overpower a hundred pound girl. He took two steps and then he was thrown back into the alley wall.

"You shouldn't have shot me or Martin," Emily responded. She turned her wand to the sword and a dark mist came from her wand and started to envelope the sheath of the blade.

"What are you?" the man asked as he stood, still pressed against the wall.

"A witch," Emily said quietly. She tucked her wand back into the pocket of her coat and unsheathed the sword. The metal of the blade had been replaced by a billowing black mist. Every now and again Harry could see the glint of the steel, but mostly it was just darkness.

"I…I…I'm sorry, we didn't mean to," the man started begging immediately. Emily lowered the hood of her cloak and smiled at him.

"Oh it's alright," she said quietly. "I forgive you."

"Really?" the man asked, looking shocked.

"Oh yes," she said. "But you're going to make it up to me."

"Anything," the man gasped, breathlessly.

"Good. I just need two things from you," Emily smiled.

"What's that?" the man asked.

"A bit of your blood," Emily said. The man nodded as if that was a simple request. "And your life." The man's eyes flashed as Emily slashed the sword across his throat.

The memory exploded. That was the best way Harry could think of describing it. There was a giant flash of something and the world went out of focus. It became black and misty and London seemed to dissolve around him.

He would have sworn that he saw something flash from out of Emily and into the sword. That he saw part of her ripped out. When London materialized he expected to find her dead on the ground, severed in two.

But he didn't. She was on the ground for sure. But she was pulling herself to her feet, the sword still held firmly in her hand. She stood shakily, like her legs were barely supporting her. It took her a moment of fumbling into her in her robes to pull out a crystal vial and her wand. She pointed the wand at the blade of the sword and the blood lifted off of the blade and flowed through the air and into the vial. Once it was filled she stoppered it and tucked it into her pocket.

Emily then used the man's clothing to wipe the rest of the blood off of the blade. She stood in the alley, surrounded by three corpses, and simply examined the blade. She looked at it curiously, turning it around in her hands, staring at the metal as she did. Eventually she tucked it into the sheath and apparated away as Harry pulled himself from the memories.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Chapter 22

Lord Voldemort stared down at the Quibbler that Snape had sent her. Harry's face smiled at her, his green eyes had been enhanced by the editor to seem larger and brighter than they really were. She shook her head as the cosmetic alteration and paged to the article referenced on the front page.

She tapped her fingernails rhythmically against the long table as she stared at the photo of Harry inside the magazine. He looked up at her from a table in the Hog's Head. He was seated between Ron and Hermione in that photo and it looked very recent, probably taken at the same time as the interview.

She let her eyes scan over the text again, the fourth time she'd done so in the last ten minutes. She'd read the article as soon as she'd noticed it on the newsstand. It had been hours later that any of her Death Eaters attempted to contact her to inform her about it.

In fact it had, rather annoyingly, taken Dolores Umbridge less time to pass a ministry decree banning _The Quibbler_ than it had to get someone to tell her about it. And moving slower than governmental bureaucrats was not something she could tolerate.

She continued to tap her finger nails on the oak table as she let her eyes drift over the text, pretending to read. The silence surrounding her was uncomfortable. One of the Death Eaters cleared his throat as softly as he could. She did not turn her attention to him.

"My Lord should we," Lucius Malfoy started. Lord Voldemort stopped tapping her fingers on the table and turned her gaze slowly to him. He immediately looked away. She didn't, instead choosing to stare at him for a moment longer, watching the blush spread up his cheeks.

After a moment she let her eyes wander. It was three places down at the table that someone drew her ire. She folded the magazine shut and then pointed to it on the long table.

"Severus," she started sharply. "How did you think this was a good idea?"

"I was not aware I was supposed to monitor his Hogsmeade trips," Snape responded without a trace of sarcasm. Voldemort frowned at him. As much as she didn't want to admit it, he had a point. She'd already chastised him for being too mean to Harry Potter.

"You knew nothing of it?" she asked.

"I assure you that is the case," Snape said. He sounded nervous. She stared at him for a moment. He wasn't lying. She knew that much from his own mind. He was worried that she'd torture him again for something he couldn't have predicted. He had no idea of Harry's plans when he'd gone to town.

In fact, he hadn't even considered that Harry would do anything different than any of the other students, or any of his other visits. Snape had even used that weekend to contact her to discuss their plans for Hogwarts. And he hadn't even been trying to hide anything on that date, that much she knew for sure.

"I believe you," she sighed, annoyed.

"It shouldn't be too much of a problem," Avery said.

"How so?" Voldemort commented.

"It's _The Quibbler_ ," Avery laughed. "Most people will just assume that barmy editor is trying to sell more magazines. It wouldn't be the first time he's printed nonsense and it won't be the last."

"It's an attack on us! He named us!" Bellatrix hissed from her corner.

"He named no one who hasn't been named before. Except Pettigrew," Voldemort said. A few Death Eaters turned toward him for a moment but the fat man just sat in his chair, doing his best to not be noticed.

"We should kill him to demonstrate our power!" Fenrir Greyback hissed.

"No," Voldemort said.

"Fifteen years ago he'd already be dead," Snape said dryly.

"Fifteen years ago they knew our master was alive," Avery responded. "Now she is trying to keep that under wraps. Reacting how we would have fifteen years ago causes more alarm than a single article in a rag of a magazine."

"Very good Avery," Voldemort responded. "They have a short attention span. I'm sure it will be difficult for the likes of Lucius here for the next few weeks, but you've dealt with worth, I imagine."

"Quite," Lucius said. "I also found the financial records for the magazine. They are barely keeping the presses running, as it were. I should be able to use that against them. I may even have a case for slander accusations, as I have already been cleared."

"Let us hope it doesn't come to that," Voldemort said.

"I am sure the ministry would not want such a public trial. It may be an idle threat, but it is enough of a threat to stop old Lovegood, I think," Lucius responded.

"I agree," Voldemort nodded. "But only if it becomes necessary."

"How will we know if it becomes necessary?" Narcissa asked quietly from next to her husband.

"I suspect any fervor will die down within the next couple of weeks," Voldemort said. "Go about your lives as normal, brush it off as grandiose storytelling from the boy the prophet has already slandered for months. If it's still an issue in a month we'll decide what further action needs to be taken."

"Yes, my Lord," Narcissa responded. There was silence in the room for a few moments then as Voldemort looked down at the magazine once more.

"My Lord?" a quiet, raspy voice asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yes Augustus?" Lord Voldemort responded without taking her eyes off of the magazine.

"Forgive me but you stated the Ministry is eager to rid themselves of Potter and Dumbledore?" Rookwood asked.

"Yes," Voldemort responded.

"Well, if they could prove libel that would discredit both of them, would it not? Additionally, a successful case would prove, legally at least, that you are not alive," Rookwood said quietly.

"An interesting point," Voldemort responded. "And perhaps one worth looking into. But for now I would rather exercise patience and see how the Ministry sweeps it under the rug before we act. Lucius, it may behoove you to make an appearance or inquiry into your legal rights in this situation, just to plan the idea within the Ministry."

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius responded instantly. Voldemort stared down at the magazine for a moment longer before shaking her head.

"You are all dismissed," she said. "Snape, Rookwood, Malfoy, stay." There was a pause from the Death Eaters before they filtered into the manor proper. Voldemort waited for a few moments for everyone to leave before continuing.

"I have what I fear may be an impossible task for you," she said quietly.

"My Lord," Rookwood stammered. "I'm not sure exactly what help I will be able to be from the manor."

"I merely need knowledge from you, Augustus. The task itself will fall to these two to accomplish," Voldemort responded.

"How can I be of assistance then?" he asked.

"What is the ministry protocol for dementor usage?" she asked.

"Forgive me, my Lord, but do you mean conditions in which they would be used because surely that's common knowledge. I worked in the Department of Mysteries, not Law Enforcement. And I'm sure things have changed in fifteen years," he said.

"That does seem likely," Voldemort responded. "Still, what do you know? And I mean more procedural. What would be the procedure for ordering one about and who could do it."

"Well the wizards stationed at Azkaban have the ability to order them around the facility," Rookwood said.

"Could they order them outside of the facility?"

"No, my Lord," Rookwood said.

"Who could?" Voldemort asked.

"I don't know that anyone could," Rookwood said. "The ministry has always been focused on keeping them on the island. Even before you turned them against them the first time."

"Surely you're not thinking there's truth to the story Potter gave at his hearing over the summer," Snape said.

"I know there's truth to it," Voldemort responded. "When I freed everyone I found the two dementors who were there and disposed of them."

"But who would want to send dementors after Harry Potter?" Lucius responded.

"I know who sent them," Voldemort said. "But I need to find actual proof."

"Forgive me, my Lord, but if you know who did it," Avery let his voice trail off. Voldemort smiled at him.

"Because proof may be useful at a later date," Voldemort said. "So, Rookwood, who would have that authority?"

"I am purely speculating here, my Lord. But, if I had to guess I would think it would be very limited. I would think the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for sure. And then perhaps the head of the Auror department. And then the Minister of Magic and maybe his direct understudies. Past that I can't imagine that they would let many people have that authority," Rookwood said.

"Thank you Augustus. That is what I assumed as well, you are dismissed."

"Yes, my Lord," Rookwood said before departing the meeting room.

"Dolores Umbridge," Voldemort said after he'd left the room, her eyes switching between Malfoy and Snape.

"What of her?" Snape asked.

"She is the one who sent the dementors after Harry Potter," Voldemort said. "And you, Lucius, will find me proof."

"My Lord that very well may be impossible. Surely she destroyed anything linking herself to the event," Lucius said quickly. His eyes darted to Snape as if looking for assistance.

"In my experience bureaucrats are awful at ridding themselves of evidence. But, you may very well be correct. I expect you to do some investigating and uncover what you can. You know who to look for. But it is crucial that no one knows exactly what you are looking for," she explained slowly.

"My Lord, I very well may not be able to find anything," Lucius said.

"I understand that and I will not fault you for failing in this task. But if you were to succeed, well then…" she let her voice trail off, letting him fathom the implication of her words.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Snape said quietly. "But perhaps we should instead try to recruit Dolores Umbridge, rather than look for blackmail material. She has expressed quite the disdain for non-magical creatures. A great many of her ideas mirror your own."

"She has been solely responsible for legislation created purely for the detriment of some of my allies, Severus. I suppose that in and of itself isn't unforgivable, but it would be far too difficult to work around. As amusing as the thought of her sitting next to Greyback is," Voldemort said dryly. To her surprise, Snape actually chuckled.

"Now I feel like I am obligated to try to recruit her just to make that a reality," Snape said.

"Anyway, she committed a far greater folly," Voldemort said coldly.

"What's that, my Lord?" Snape asked. But Voldemort simply waved a hand at him and changed the subject.

"This dueling club," Voldemort said, changing the subject. "I think it's time that it is uncovered."

"That could very well result in Harry Potter's expulsion," Snape said.

"He's calling it Dumbledore's Army," Voldemort responded. "I think it will give the ministry all of the excuse they need to rid Hogwarts of the old man."

"Perhaps," Snape responded. He stared at her for a moment, his expression a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. As if he wondered just how she could know that, but also was far too afraid to ask or even question her on it. "But still, I have no idea where they are managing to meet."

"Seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, if one paces in front of the wall a room will appear to provide them with what they need. Do not inform her yourself, have one of the students do it," Voldemort said.

"Yes, my Lord," Snape responded. "Do you want the boy expelled?"

"Ideally not," Voldemort responded. "Try to focus it on Dumbledore. I think that will distract Umbridge enough. With Dumbledore out of the picture I believe they'd rather have Harry Potter under their thumb."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape said. "Is that all for now?"

"No," Voldemort responded.

"How else can I serve you?" Snape responded.

"I've already had to discuss Harry Potter's grades with you once, I dislike having to bring it up again," Voldemort said.

"I have not graded his homework any different than anyone else in my class," Snape spat.

"You gave him a D on his last essay about the proper usage of dittany in potion making," Voldemort responded.

"How could you possibly," Snape started.

"I wrote that essay," Voldemort responded. "And I know the proper usage of dittany in potion making."

"My Lord I have a hard time believing," Snape started again.

"And I really dislike giving the same orders twice. So I trust that from here on out I will not need to check to make sure Harry Potter is graded fairly," Voldemort said.

"I grade all of my students on the same standard," Snape sneered defensively.

"Severus, I could very easy arrange for there to be a professor who does grade all of their students on the same standard," Voldemort responded.

"I am too valuable to you," Severus responded coldly.

"I would not advise you to test that," Voldemort said, she locked eyes with him for a moment and then laughed. "And I would not advise you to run cowering to Dumbledore. It will be very hard for him to support you when he learns you're intentionally failing Harry Potter out of petty spite. Now are we clear on that?"

"Yes, My Lord," Snape said through gritted teeth. Voldemort did not need to peer into his head to know his anger at that, but at the moment she didn't care. Snape wasn't in her future plans anyway. Sure, he was useful for now, but that usefulness seemed to be fading very rapidly.

"Good," Voldemort said. "Now I expect to know immediately once their illegal defense group has been located. And remember, we're trying to get Dumbledore out of the school, and, ideally, keep Harry Potter in it."

"Yes, My Lord," Snape said again, no emotion at all in his voice.

"And if he is expelled, you will do everything in your power to ensure that he winds up back here with you. I do not care if it ruins your current position with Dumbledore," she said as coldly as she could muster.

"Yes, My Lord," Snape said once more.

"You are dismissed then, Severus," she said. She left the room before he even stood.

She spent a few moments in Malfoy Manor afterwards, checking on the Death Eaters that were still there. She spent a few moments which each of them individually, inquiring to their wellbeing and the like, charming them with a few words of encouragement.

By the time she left the morale of the former Azkaban prisoners seemed much improved. She made a note to keep asking about them for the new few meetings, just to see if she could work them back to their old powers. It would be a long road back, she knew, but it was also the absolute least she owed them for their service.

Still she doubted most of them would be redeemable. Rookwood was able to form coherent sentences now, at least, which was a plus. And Dolohov was getting better each day. But she highly doubted that any of the Lestranges would ever be of use to her again.

Once she'd finished with the rounds, as she liked to think of it, purely because the thought of Nurse Voldemort amused her, she left the manor.

She felt oddly strange about being so idle. But the ministry was allowing her time to rest and recover, and she knew full well that those moments could often be few and far between and that soon it would be much more difficult to find those moments.

It felt off, though, like she should be doing more than waiting around for the next part of her plan to unfold. She frowned at the thought. The next part of her plan was giving her some qualms anyway. It needed to be done, she knew, but it seemed so very risky.

Of course.,it didn't matter until Dumbledore was out of Hogwarts. And while she thought that would be the ministry's first reaction to uncovering the new incarnation of Dumbledore's Army, it was still far from a sure thing.

But she'd cross that bridge when it came. For now there wasn't anything more she could conceivably accomplish that evening, aside from some violin, a cup of tea, and a bubble bath.

Harry pushed the image of Emily taking a bubble bath out of his head. He wasn't quite sure why that flashed into his mind at that moment, when he was watching her concoct some sort of potion, but it had, and it had been rather distracting. He frowned down at the scene before him, trying to remember just what was going on.

Remembering what was going on; however, was not a pleasant thought. He recognized what was going on easily enough. He'd had a front row seat to it before, at the graveyard last summer. But this time it was her muttering the words and placing items into the cauldron, and not Wormtail.

"What is she doing?" a voice asked from his side causing Harry to literally jump. He turned to his side and saw Ron standing next to him, watching Emily with the cauldron. She took the sheathed katana from where it was resting on the couch and put it into the cauldron, part of the hilt stuck out into the air.

"How the hell did you get here," Harry exclaimed.

"You and Hermione already disappeared into this thing once when she first saw it," Ron said, Harry remembered the glazed over look on Hermione's face when he'd had to pull her out of the diary back at headquarters. "Wasn't that hard to figure out."

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, after taking a moment to compose himself.

"Hermione sent me to check on you because she doesn't think you're doing your homework and is feeling particularly bossy today, apparently. And that, coupled with the fact that the twins are clearly up to something, made me feel like being in the common room wasn't the best idea right now," Ron explained, his attention fully focused on Emily as he spoke. Harry stared at him for a moment, gritting his teeth, but he knew he had nothing to really be angry about. Although he'd have to keep his temple guardian active in the future.

"I see," He said softly. He turned his attention back from Ron to Emily as she took what appeared to be a hunk of flesh out of another cauldron and deposited it into the same one as the sword. It sparked a few times, much like anything Neville tried to brew, but settled after a moment.

"Is that really what she looks like?" Ron asked.

"Uhm, she's not as rail thin now," Harry said. "She's not really been eating much. She just lost her husband and a baby."

"You're kidding me, right?" Ron laughed.

"No," Harry said. "She murdered the people that killed them. Using that sword in the cauldron."

"Who would marry Lord Voldemort?" Ron laughed, sounding aghast.

"His name was Martin Price," Harry said. "He was an officer during the war. And an accountant after."

"That sounds amazingly boring," Ron said.

"They seemed happy," Harry shrugged.

"Still can you imagine?" Ron laughed. "Having sex with Lord Voldemort?" He made a face when he spoke, before he mimed gagging. Harry was silent for a moment before he said quietly.

"Yes. She likes to be on top," he said. He let his eyes focus on the ritual occurring before him, wondering if that was simply because of Martin's leg. But he decided it was best to not focus on that for too long.

"That's gross man," Ron said.

"I guess," Harry shrugged.

"So what is she doing?" Ron asked.

"It's the same ritual that brought her back to life," Harry responded as she uncorked a bottle and poured the blood she'd taken into the cauldron. Again it sparked and bubbled, but nothing more happened.

"Well she's sort of not dead," Ron said, gesturing to her.

"I think she's trying to bring back her husband," Harry said. "Last time she used some sort of a crown thing and not the sword."

"Huh, but how would that work?" Ron asked.

"I have no idea. The last ingredient she needs if flesh," Harry said. "Wormtail did it all last time. He had like a weird baby thing that was supposedly her."

"Weird, so what's she going to use for flesh?" Ron asked.

"Wormtail used his whole hand," Harry said.

"That seems excessive," Ron said as Emily picked up a knife from the nearby table and stepped over the cauldron. She held her arm over it and ran the blade against her skin, peeling back a neat section of it and letting it fall into the cauldron. She healed the wound with a flick of her wand and turned her attention back toward the cauldron, which was now bubbling madly.

"That's what it did when she came back," Harry said. "She stepped out of it a moment later."

"That seems more like what happens when Neville is left alone in potions," Ron commented.

"It's taking longer too," Harry said as he watched. Emily stood near the cauldron and stared at it intently, her lips pressed tightly together. But the cauldron simply kept bubbling and bubbling and bubbling. And then, after a solid minute, it exploded.

"Called it," Ron said from Harry's side as the apartment where she'd been brewing filled with a dark smoke. Harry felt the memory speed up, the smoke billowing faster and faster around them until it vanished. Emily was flat on her back, a chunk of the cauldron sticking out of her side. She winced and sat up before simply pulling it from her and tossing it into the remains of the cauldron. She healed the puncture with her wand and pulled herself to her feet.

The cauldron she'd been brewing in was gone, the only thing that remained of the potion that she'd done was the sheathed katana. She frowned down at it before leaning over and picking it up. She walked it slowly to the office and put it back on the wall mount, staring at it quietly. Harry and Ron followed her.

"What's she doing?" Ron asked.

"I don't know. Her potion obviously failed, I think she's wondering why," Harry said.

"What's with the sword?" Ron asked.

"She found it in Japan. It was a gift for her husband. She killed a muggle with it and a spell, it was strange when she did it, it was like a piece of her went into the sword," Harry explained, trying his best to vocalize the memory.

"So she was using it as a part of herself fin the potion then?" Ron asked. "I've heard of potions that require a piece of the brewer to be successful, but I'd never heard of anyone actually trying them. They're mostly archaic and we've found better ways to get the same results."

"Maybe," Harry said. "She's been reading some old and really dark tomes. She found something in one of them that led to this."

"What's she like?" Ron asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry turned his attention from the memory of Emily and looked at his friend. Ron was still staring at the scene before him.

"Well you spent weeks with her," Ron said. "What is she like?"

"Warm," Harry said, the word springing into his head before he could even really think about the question.

"What?" Ron laughed, as if he did not believe what he'd heard.

"What?" Harry responded.

"How can You-Know-Who be warm? She's evil!" Ron laughed.

"She just is," Harry shrugged. "She's almost addicting to be around."

"Do you even hear what you're saying?" Ron asked. "It's insane."

"I guess," Harry said. "But it's true. When you're around her, and she's having fun, her whole face lights up. Her smile makes you smile. And then when it slips from her face, all you want to do is get it back there."

"You sound like a bad romance novel," Ron said. Harry couldn't help but chuckled.

"Maybe. It's hard to explain. But when she's looking at you, when she's paying attention to you, talking to you. It's like nothing I've ever known. It's like you're the only thing in the world that matters. It's addicting," Harry said. And then the memory exploded.

"What the hell?" Ron asked. Harry couldn't see anything in the now smoke-filled memory, but could tell Ron had fallen to the ground at the explosion. By now he was accustomed to his own invulnerability when in the book so he hadn't moved.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I wasn't really paying attention."

"She'd just put something else into the cauldron," Ron said as he got back to his feet and stood next to Harry.

"Bone probably," Harry responded as he remembered what else he'd watched her place in the potion before Ron had joined him in the memory.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I've seen this ritual before," he said.

"Well what happened after it exploded that time?" Ron asked.

"It didn't explode," Harry said, and he felt the memory speed up as the smoke rapidly billowed out of existence. "She just stepped out of it."

"Right and she was naked, you said that," Ron said.

"Surprising what you remember," Harry said.

"Well she's clothed now," Ron said as the scene came back into focus around them. Emily was pulling herself to her feet, looking rather badly shaken. The cauldron she'd been brewing in was completely melted, the only ingredient remaining was the sheathed sword standing up on end in the remains.

Emily pulled the sword out and unsheathed it, examining it and frowning. As far as Harry could tell it was completely normal. She slammed it shut and tossed it onto the couch before vanishing all of the leftover debris.

"So why didn't it work?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. Emily finished cleaning up the mess before tossing herself down on the couch. Harry sat next to her, sitting on the sword knowing he couldn't interact with anything in the memory. Ron walked over toward him and watched as Emily summoned the old spell book to her and started to read. But Ron didn't focus on her, instead he looked around the house.

"This place is very muggle," he said disdainfully.

"Well she married one," Harry responded, reiterating the point he knew he'd already made at least once.

"So weird," Ron said, shaking his head.

"I suppose," Harry said. Emily frowned down at the spell book before standing and apparating away.

"Woah," Ron said as they appeared on a dark street in London. Emily pulled the hood of a cloak over her head and walking.

"You get used to it and the fast forwarding," Harry said.

"Still strange," Ron said. "It feels almost as if I totally missed something."

"Well, the decade of past, but other than that, no probably not," Harry responded.

"Still think it's strange she was married," Ron said.

"What, not pretty enough for you?" Harry scoffed.

"Well, I mean right now she looks sick," Ron responded. "I guess she's pretty enough though. Still."

"Still what?" Harry asked as Ron let his voice trail off.

"Well would you be with her?" Ron asked.

"She kills my parents at some point in her future," Harry responded.

"I meant more hypothetically," Ron said. "Because I mean, already married? I don't think I could be with someone who'd been with someone, you know?"

"I guess," Harry said. The thought hadn't ever crossed his mind.

"I'd feel like I was just getting compared to the other guy constantly and that she wasn't really mine," Ron continued.

"I get it," Harry said, mostly hoping that Ron would let that topic die. He looked like he wanted to keep talking about it. But instead Emily distracted him.

"What is she doing?" Ron asked as Emily stepped down a dark alleyway.

"Honestly?" Harry asked. "Probably looking for someone to murder. The ritual required her to use blood from an enemy."

"She's going to murder someone?" Ron sounded alarmed.

"Probably," Harry said.

"And you're okay with that?" Ron's eyes were wild as he looked around the London street.

"No," Harry said. "But it's a memory. It's not like I can change it."

"I don't want to watch someone die," Ron said as Emily crossed in front of two men on the dark street. One of them said something to her, but Harry wasn't close enough to hear it clearly.

"Then close your eyes or leave," Harry said, realizing it probably came out colder than he intended. He saw Emily stiffen as the men spoke. She stopped walking and turned to them, her wand sliding easily into her hand. She reached behind her and unclasped the golden locket she wore.

The men laughed. Whether they thought she assumed they were trying to steal from her, or that she was undressing, or that she was just strange, they never really knew. It was over before it really even started.

A simple flick of her wand propelled the locket toward one of the men, while a black slash shot green light at the other. A black shadow enveloped the locket as it ripped through the first man's neck, skittering across the alley behind him as it fell to the ground. Emily staggered as the man died, bracing herself but managing to stay on her feet.

She seemed to be in a great deal of pain as the shadows coalesced around the locket, slowly absorbing into the gold. It took a minute or two before the jewelry appeared to be back to normal. Emily stepped over to it and picked it up gingerly.

"What did she just do?" Ron asked as the memory apparated them back to her home.

"I don't know," Harry said. But she used a similar spell on the sword she was using earlier."

"But why?" Ron asked again.

"I wish I knew. Some things are starting to come into place but," Harry sighed and shook his head.

"What?"

"I had that locket," he said.

"What?" Ron laughed.

"That locket. It was at Grimmauld Place. It belonged to Salazar Slytherin. I meant to throw it away when we were cleaning but it wound up in my pocket instead. Dumbledore took it from me," Harry explained.

"Do you think he has any idea what it is?" Ron asked.

"I don't know he barely speaks to me this year," Harry grumbled.

"You should show him this," Ron said.

"Maybe," Harry responded.

"You're not going to," Ron said.

"Not until I've seen everything there is to see," Harry said. The memory sped up again and she started brewing once more. Harry felt Ron watching him rather than Emily, but he did his best to ignore the feel of Ron's stare on him. He knew his friend well enough to know that he was looking for something to say, and that nothing was coming to him. So when he finally did break the silence it was merely to change the topic.

"She's trying it again," Ron said.

"She is," Harry said. He could feel days pass in the memory until she had the same potion where she'd had it before. He watched more closely this time, hoping to get a clue of how she was failing. But he saw nothing and the second attempted ended in carnage and smoke just as readily as the first one had.

"She failed again," Ron said.

"She did," Harry responded.

"She looks awful," Ron said as Emily rose to her feet. She looked perhaps a little paler than normal, and her hair seemed slightly charred, but other than that Harry thought she looked pretty similar to how she always looked.

"I guess," Harry said as the memories flashed once more.

"Is it usually this all over the place?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I've gotten used to watching it. You just sort of start absorbing it as you go."

And so they watched. The routine continued. Once she visited a graveyard and took a handful of bones from one of the graves. Then she apparated back to the house and they watched as she used her wand to flay neat segments of skin off of her shoulder. She didn't even wince as she did it.

"Yikes," Ron said, wincing away as she healed the wound and placed the skin and bone into a potions kit.

"She didn't seem bothered," Harry said. And then the memory continued. She found more people alone in London, although this time Harry couldn't tell if they were doing anything nefarious. It didn't stop her though.

Twice more they watched her attempt the ritual. The first time she used the very diary they were looking in. Harry wondered what her reasoning behind that object was. Perhaps the magic left in it, perhaps because it was memories of magic she'd shared with him. Either way, it didn't work.

The final time she used her wedding ring. When that didn't work she plucked it from the cauldron and walked into their bedroom. She tucked it into her jewelry box and took a moment to stare down at her left hand. She frowned before apparating out of the house.

"I think I know why she's failing," Ron said.

"Me too," Harry responded. "What's your theory?"

"She doesn't have anything of him," Ron said. "Only things of her."

"That's what I thought too," Harry responded. "She made the sort of flesh golem thing but before that was her. Now it's nothing."

"Yeah she had to know that though," Ron said.

"I think she probably does but is trying anyway. Regardless we'll see where we wind up."

And to Harry's surprise she went to Hogwarts. But she didn't search out any of the professors. She found the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron arguing on the third floor. It must have been summer, Harry thought, despite the dreary outside weather, as there were no students about.

She argued with the Grey Lady about a diadem.

"I know it exists," she spat at the ghost. "At one point it was with the cup, the sword, and the locket. Tell me where you hid it."

"What's a diadem?" Ron asked.

"Dunno," Harry admitted. "Some type of jewelry maybe?"

"Why would a ghost want jewelry?" Ron asked.

"No idea," Harry said. The Grey Lady obviously didn't want to be questioned about it, though, as she turned to fly through a nearby wall.

But Emily didn't let her. She raised her wand and slashed it at the ghost. And to Harry's surprise, the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower shrieked in pain. The Baron cursed and lunged at Emily but he flew through her with no visible effect. Emily slashed her wand back and seemed to pull the Grey Lady out of the wall as she did, still shrieking.

"I didn't think you could hurt a ghost," Harry said.

"Nah, you can," Ron said. "Some of the viler ones get banished. But it's supposed to be really tricky magic. And it usually takes more than one wizard."

"Where is it," Emily said again, her tone perfectly quiet.

"It should stay lost. It can't help you," the Grey Lady said before Emily cursed her again. The shriek made Harry shiver and look away, finding himself uncomfortable with the entire situation. He didn't have much experience with ghosts other than Nearly-Headless Nick but he didn't think they deserved to be treated that way.

"Stop, Emily," The Baron said calmly and Harry remembered that he must have known her, as she was in his house. She lowered her wand and looked at him.

"Yes?" she said.

"It's in a forest in Albania. We hid it away inside a tree. I don't remember the exact location. I doubt Helena does either," the Baron said.

"Don't tell her that!" the Grey Lady shrieked.

"No way Helena? Helena Ravenclaw?" Ron laughed. "That has to be a coincidence."

"It's not like she'll be able to actually find it," the Baron said. "Needle in a haystack."

"It's a powerful magic item. I'll find it," Emily said. And she turned to leave. As she walked toward the main entrance, Professor Dumbledore stepped around a corner and saw her. He smiled brightly, although Harry thought it looked practiced.

"Good evening Miss Riddle! To what do we owe the pleasure," he said cordially. Emily paused and looked at him for a moment, almost doing a double-take at his words. But she slipped to the doors rather than stopping to greet him.

"I was just leaving," she said, forcing her way outside. Dumbledore looked about to say something but then she was through the doors, making her way down to where she could apparate away.

Harry watched Dumbledore watch her leave, his expression unreadable. One word stuck in his head, vibrating around and repeating over and over. Why had he said it? It didn't make sense. Dumbledore always knew what to say, yet he'd chosen that? Harry frowned as the scenery shifted around he and Ron once more.

Time flashed again, and they watched her go back to the shop. She peered through books quietly. Borgin tried to chastise her but Burke rushed him out of the room and returned with hot chocolate. She stared at him for a few moments but sipped it and then went back to reading.

"What is she doing?" Ron asked.

"Looking for something," Harry said.

"At Borgin and Burkes?" Ron asked.

"She worked there. I don't think she ever really quit. But she just sort of stopped coming in. They were planning on giving her a few months after the kid, but she just sort of well, you can imagine," Harry said.

"I guess," he responded. "Did Borgin just ask her to dinner?"

"That's Burke. And Apparently," Harry said. He was actually surprised when she actually took him up on the offer. Ron giggled and elbowed him in the ribs as she showered and dressed. The dress she chose, a dark green number, was almost too big for her and she seemed rather uncomfortable in it.

But she seemed better when she was out. Burke treated her to dinner and they actually, after an awkward minute or two, managed to hold a conversation. Harry thought Ron looked fairly bored as he watched. But Emily didn't. She looked happier than she had in a very long time.

Toward the end of the evening they ran into some of his friends. Harry recognized a few of the names and blinked at what must have been grandparents of students he knew. Burke slid an arm around her and introduced her simply as Emily and not his employee. She glared at him but played along until Sirius's mother started talking to her.

"Is that?" Ron laughed, pointing.

"Yes," Harry nodded, recognizing her from the painting. She was much younger and seemed to have command of the entire room. Emily seemed uncomfortable under her stare and with her questions. And after not very long she told Burke she wanted to leave. He offered to walk her home but she shook her head and told him she'd just apparate.

She didn't appear back in her house, though. It felt like days passed, but when they rejoined her they were in a forest somewhere. She walked through the trees without seeming to be really paying attention to where she was going.

It took days. It flashed forward to seem only like a couple of minutes, but the rising and setting sun told Harry it took much longer than that. She kept wandering though, not really being bothered by the debris that wound up on her and in her hair as she explored.

Eventually, though, she paused near a large tree and turned to face it. She just stared at it for a few moments before stepping toward it and placing her hand on the trunk. She smiled as she touched it, her eyes lighting up in the dim morning light.

She reached for her wand with her other hand and then with one quick slash she felled the tree. She dug into the stump, ripping chunks out of it with her wand before a shiny tiara appeared.

"She used that when she resurrected herself," Harry said.

"A crown?" Ron asked.

"Well like half of one," Harry said.

"It looks like a bird. Actually, isn't Rowena Ravenclaw wearing something that looks a lot like that in portrait of her on the third floor?" Ron asked.

"I think she's probably wearing that," Harry said as Emily pulled it from the stump.

"Didn't Binns say something about Ravenclaw's Diadem made the wearer smarter?" Ron asked.

"Definitely not," Harry said. "That's too interesting for Binns. Probably just a rumor spread by Ravenclaw students. Didn't they start rumors about that after I found Gryffindor's sword?"

"Probably," Ron said as Emily examined the diadem and then placed it gingerly on her head.

At first nothing happened. She just stood there. Harry stared, wondering what was going on in her head. It wasn't until a few moments later that Harry realized her eyes were completely glazed over and that the memory was growing foggy. Images flashed everywhere around her. It all flashed too quickly for Harry to understand what was going on.

After a few moments she drew in smoky magic in the air around her.

"She's not using a wand," Ron said as Emily drew a triangular symbol he thought he'd seen before. It took a minute to pinpoint that he'd seen it on the uniforms of the people she'd fought during the war.

"She does that," Harry said. "She dueled me without her wand in Chicago. It was unpleasant."

"She beat you without a wand?" Ron asked.

"Handily," Harry admitted. Emily stared at the symbol floating in the smoke before her. She slashed her hand through it and the triangle and line disappeared and left just the circle floating there. She stared at it for a few moments, her eyes wide. Harry could see connections being made in her mind, connections she wasn't even aware were possible.

But then the circle transformed into a ring and she started laughing. A ghostly shade of Rowena Ravenclaw appeared, rising out of the ground, followed shortly by one of Salazar Slytherin.

"It's from the story," Slytherin said, holding up a ring and examining it in the light, "the stone that brings back the dead."

"You know that isn't possible," Ravenclaw responded.

"I will discover the truth of that myself," Slytherin said.

"Bloody creepy," Ron said, staring at the shades as they vanished in the wind as the scenery changed around them once more.

They were back in her house moments later. She stepped quickly through the living room and into the bedroom. She moved quickly to the ornate wooden jewelry box that sat on her dresser. Martin had crafted it for her on their first anniversary. She opened it and dug through it until she pulled out a large golden ring, the same one she'd taken from the man who'd attacked her the night she killed her father. She'd had it for years, although she'd never worn it or displayed it.

She slipped the ring onto her right ring finger and then looked up into the mirror, the sapphire raven shining on her head as she squeezed her right hand into a fist. She closed her eyes and brought her left hand over her right.

After five long seconds she opened her eyes. She took one long deep breath before turning around and facing the bed.

"Holy shit," Harry said quietly as Martin Price stood in the bedroom door.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work

Chapter 23

"Martin!" Emily yelled. She charged at him, flung her arms around him and kissed him, before burying her face into his shoulder. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such blatant joy in her expression. He could also tell she was crying, fighting convulsions as she clung to him. Harry noticed that Martin did not hug her back.

"The husband, I presume?" Ron said.

"Emily," Martin said quietly. His voice seemed off to Harry, like it wasn't completely there. It seemed to echo around the room.

"Yes," Harry said, watching them carefully. Emily kept her face buried in his shoulder for a few moments before raising her head to look at him.

"Oh Martin, you're freezing," Emily said, shifting back to look at him. His eyes looked rather emotionless as he looked back down at her.

"Emily," he said again, his tone seeming sterner than it had before. But Emily didn't seem to notice.

"Would you like me to make some tea or some coffee or anything?" she asked as she composed herself, dabbing at her tear-stained cheeks but smiling very brightly.

"I think I see what you mean," Ron said as he stared at her, his mouth slightly agape.

"I know, right?" Harry said.

"Oh are you hungry?" Emily said. "I don't think there's a lot of food in the kitchen but I'm sure I can make something edible quick."

"No Emily," Martin said.

"Oh?" Emily asked. She tilted her head and smiled coquettishly as she fell back onto the bed, propping herself up with her arms out behind her as she sat. "Is there something else you'd like to do first then?"

"Uhm," Ron said.

"Eh," Harry shrugged. "You should have seen the thing she wore for his last birthday if you think that's hot."

"What was that?" Ron asked, looking at him with his eyebrows arched.

"Let's just say I think your parents steer us away from Knockturn Alley simply so we don't see the shop she bought it in rather than anything to do with the dark arts," Harry said.

"That sounds like something they would do," Ron nodded. "Can we rewind to that?"

"No," Harry said.

"Fine," Ron laughed.

"No Emily," Martin said. Emily immediately pouted, looking very confused. Harry thought her pouting was vastly more effective here than it had been over the Christmas holiday. She sat up and suddenly looked very small and very dejected.

"Why not?" she asked softly, not looking at her husband.

"Emily I'm dead," Martin said. He reached to offer his hands to her, but she didn't take them.

"No you're not. You're right here. I brought you back," Emily said.

"In spirit. I'm still dead, Emily," Martin said. His voice was completely calm, betraying absolutely no emotion as he talked to her much like someone would a child. His eyes simply looked tired as he stared down at his empty hands and her.

"No," Emily said sternly.

"Yes," Martin said, sounding almost petulant.

"But you're here," she argued.

"Yes," he agreed. "Something pulled me back. It was….it is…painful, Emily. It is wrong. It feels wrong." He stared down at his hands, examining them and his arms carefully,

"I'm hurting you?" Emily seemed to catch on with that, her left hand shot over her right, clenching the ring in her palm.

"Yes," Martin nodded.

"Oh I'm so sorry. I…I…," she stammered. Martin shook his head at her.

"Don't worry about it. We need to talk anyway," Martin said.

"About what?" Emily asked.

"You," he said.

"Me?" she responded. "What about me?"

"Yes. Look at yourself," Martin said, gesturing to her. Emily stood from the bed and looked in the mirror, shrugging her shoulders.

"I seem normal," she said.

"You aren't eating, you're so thin I could probably wrap my hands around your waist, I bet I could count your ribs if you took your top off, you look like a skeleton," Martin said.

"I don't think she looks too thin," Ron said.

"I do," Harry responded. Emily made a face at herself in the mirror, then made a face at Martin.

"I'm fine," Emily snapped.

"No. You are not. Look at yourself. Emily, you are the daughter of Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt. The granddaughter of Marvolo Gaunt. The last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin. You should look proud and dignified. Not like you are about to keel over from hunger," Martin said.

"How do you know that?" Emily narrowed her eyes at the ghost of her husband.

"I know everything now," Martin said, shrugging his shoulders. "The dead, we can see whatever we want. There's so much information to take in, so much to view. We…we start to forget what mattered to us and what didn't."

"Why does my lineage matter?" Emily asked. "And it's all crap anyway. It's not like I can prove any of it."

"Your grandfather, your parents, they feel for you. They want you to take care of yourself," Martin said, ignoring her dismissal of it.

"I never met that grandfather. I killed my mother. And I killed my father. I highly doubt that they are very interested in my wellbeing," Emily snapped.

"Your mother doesn't see it that way. You could bring her here and ask," Martin said.

"If she didn't see it that way then she should have made a little effort. If she can see like you then she knows what she put me through. I don't want to talk to her," Emily tensed as she spoke. Harry winced as she said it. He would give nearly anything to be able to exchange a sentence or two with his mother, even just a shade of her, and yet Emily didn't even want to see her parents.

Then again, he joined her at sixteen. And while growing up in an orphanage must have been difficult, he hadn't seen anything that had seemed overly heinous. But there were parts of her childhood she wouldn't talk about, even to Martin. He wondered if he even wanted to see them.

"I want you to start taking care of yourself," Martin said. Emily frowned at him and was silent for a moment.

"Fine," she sighed.

"You're just agreeing so we don't talk about it more," Martin said.

"No I'm not," Emily countered. Even Harry could tell she wasn't being honest.

"Fine," Martin sighed.

"You said we needed to talk yet you aren't doing any talking," Emily said. She rose from the bed and stood, almost defiantly, across from him.

"We need to talk about you," Martin said.

"I'm fine," Emily responded.

"No, you are not," Martin said.

"Yes, I am," she argued.

"Emily, I know you better than everyone. Including yourself. You are not fine," Martin said. "You are letting yourself sit here and rot. You don't even go to work anymore."

"I don't want to go work," she said.

"Bet dad wishes he could get away with that," Ron said.

"Bet everyone wishes they could get away with that," Harry countered.

"I know," Martin said. "You want to bring me back. To go back to what we have. But it isn't going to happen."

"I'm getting closer," Emily said. "And it wouldn't need to be what we had. I miss you so much Martin. I'd…I'd…well I'd be what you wanted. I'd stay home. I'd cook. I'd be the perfect little hostess for your parties."

"No. Just no. And, no, love, you aren't," Martin said. "All you're doing is destroying yourself."

"No I'm not. I'm fine," Emily snapped.

"Those objects you're creating. To try to bring me back. They're tearing you asunder. You cannot keep doing that. It won't work anyway," Martin said.

"I know," she frowned. "I don't have any pieces of you to actually use. I thought if I put a bit of me into an object with history between us that maybe it could take that as a bit of you."

"It could not," Martin said.

"I figured that out the hard way," Emily said.

"And now you're going to be stuck here for a very long time," Martin said.

"What?" Emily asked.

"You've split your soul multiple times. If your body dies there will be pieces of you left. You will be left behind," Martin stated.

"That explains a lot," Harry said.

"I see," Emily said, not sounding the least bit shocked by that news.

"But you knew that might happen, didn't you," Martin said.

"Seemed worth the risk," Emily shrugged.

"And every time you did it you grew stronger. You pushed yourself further and further. It was like when you returned from Japan and suddenly some magic just seemed easier, wasn't it?" Martin asked.

"What are you an expert on magic now?" Emily countered.

"I'm an expert on everything, Em," Martin said. "I've seen so many things."

"Well do you have advice then?" Emily narrowed her eyes at the diminutive and responded rather sarcastically.

"You're the best of them, you know," Martin said.

"No I'm not," Emily responded. "I'm not even near the best of them all."

"Yes," Martin said. "You are."

"That's silly," she actually laughed.

"Is she?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "The only time I saw her really unleash was years ago and she ended up losing the big fight."

"Well that isn't a ringing endorsement," Ron said.

"In Chicago she kicked my ass without even using her wand," Harry said.

"But we know she's good now," Ron said.

"True," Harry responded.

"I'm nothing special, Martin," Emily said. "I know you probably thought it was cool to be married to a witch but what did I use magic for? Heating up dinner and starting the coffee?"

"Moving every item around the house in an instant," Martin added.

"Oh yeah super impressive. Basic levitation and control spells. Any second year could pull that off," Emily said dismissively. Harry saw Ron wince next to him. He knew there were points when his friend still struggled with controlling multiple levitated objects at once.

"You sell yourself short," Martin said.

"No, I don't think I do. I was such a hot commodity coming out of school that I wound up getting rejected for every single job I applied for and had to stoop to using my breasts to sell goods in an antique shop," Emily scoffed.

"You know why that happened," Martin said.

"Oh do I?" Emily raised her eyebrows at Martin.

"Yes, you do," he said.

"Well let's pretend I don't remember so you can remind me," Emily said.

"Albus Dumbledore let it be known he would prefer for you to have a job outside of the government," Martin said.

"Burke told me," Emily said. "But I just assumed he was making it up."

"He wasn't. He spent quite a lot of time convincing certain entities that it would be in their best interest if you were not involved with them. He seemed to think that you were not a very good influence around the school," Martin said.

"I was a perfect student!" Emily said.

"You killed a girl," Martin countered.

"No, Aly did," Emily said.

"I really don't think that you're going to win that argument," Martin said. "Honestly how did you think that was a good idea."

"I figured if Slytherin could control her I could," Emily shrugged.

"And that failed miserably and so you blamed another student," Martin countered. "But of course, at fifteen you were already convinced you could do what a legendary wizard had already done."

"An acromantula would have been way deadlier in the school than Aly," Emily argued, ignoring the aside. "She's harmless. She just got surprised."

"No, Emily. It was reckless and dangerous and stupid," Martin said.

"Well I was fifteen and lonely," Emily looked away from him.

"I know," he said. "And at fifteen you tamed a very dangerous creature."

"Well it was already mostly tame," she said.

"But in doing so you caused Dumbledore to suspect you," Martin continued.

"Well I still wound up Head Girl," Emily countered.

"He argued against you for that position. But the other professors, especially your head of house, disagreed," Martin continued. "And you didn't put a toe out of line after that. Except, perhaps, for those trips to the bar."

"Well it wasn't like that was uncommon," Emily said.

"And then you surprised him by insisting on joining the final battle. God, you should have seen yourself. You broke through, Emily. You turned the tide of the battle. I was so proud watching you. And yet, he removed mention of you from all the history books," Martin said.

"I don't care about that," Emily said.

"I know you don't," Martin said. "But you dueled that Grindelwald. I went back and watched him after that. You were more effective than anyone he'd battled before."

"And I lost. I told you about that," she said.

"Yes, at sixteen you lost. But you were closer than you think. Ten, fifteen more minutes and it may have been a very different fight," Martin said.

"Really?" Ron asked.

"I don't think so," Harry said. "She got spanked."

"Hot," Ron commented.

"Not like that," Harry said. "She really doesn't like that."

"You know way too much about her," Ron said.

"Probably," Harry agreed.

"You're giving me way too much credit," Emily said.

"And you are not giving yourself enough. You passed out for the final duel. But it wasn't a very long fight. Dumbledore overpowered him in a very anti-climactic fashion. They taunted each other. Dumbledore focused on how much weaker he was since their first fight. And Grindelwald on how he sent a little girl to clean up his own mess,"

"Glad I didn't witness that," Emily said.

"After Dumbledore won, Grindelwald teased him. He laughed at him. He said that you were more of a threat than him. That you knew everything, and that you would ruin him. He called you his pretty little apprentice. And asked if you were that much better than him."

"Gross," Emily said. "But what's the point?"

"Don't you see, Emily? Isn't it obvious?" Martin looked exasperated.

"Oh yes, so obvious," Emily responded sarcastically.

"He tried to ruin you because he feared you. He feared your power, your youth, your everything. So he tried desperately to push you back to the muggle world. And instead you flourished in an environment he wouldn't have thought possible," Martin said.

"So?" Emily asked.

"An environment he would have never flourished in!" Martin continued.

"Well duh, Burke wouldn't have wanted to sleep with him," Emily countered. "And he isn't from an era where actually having a job is considered a thing."

"Emily you are the best of them," he said. "They talked about it in staff meetings, they talked about it after the war. About what a waste you were in that shop. About how you could have done so much more."

"I was happy in that shop," Emily said.

"No, you weren't," Martin sighed. "You were happy with me. Not in that shop."

"So what do you want me to do then?" Emily asked.

"I want you to be what they thought you could be," Martin said.

"And just what's that?" Emily asked.

"The best of them," Martin said. Emily just laughed, loud and clear, shaking her head as she did.

"She has a nice laugh," Ron said.

"She does," Harry responded.

"You're insane," Emily shook her head as she started to control her laughter.

"Emily, you have the power to change everything," Martin said. Emily rolled her eyes and looked incredibly uninterested in the conversation.

"That's silly. No one has that power," Emily said.

"You do," Martin said.

"I doubt it," Emily responded. The shade of Martin raised an eyebrow at her. He seemed in deep thought for a moment before he finally spoke.

"Why did you let me die, Emily?" Martin asked.

"Ouch," Ron said.

"That is low," Harry added.

"What?" Emily stared, her hands balling into fists.

"Why did you let me die?" he asked again.

"I didn't let you die," Emily said. "You were shot. They shot me too!"

"You could have stopped them. You dispatched them in about ten seconds while stopping to chat with them. And you used a God damn sword to do it. As soon as they approached you could have stopped them," Martin said.

"I didn't have my wand," Emily said. "It was in my purse."

"And?" Martin raised his eyebrows at her.

"So I was helpless!" Emily said, her body flushing with anger as she spoke.

"Were you?" Martin asked. "I've seen you do magic without a wand. I've seen you do things with the slightest wave of a hand or a thought. And that's all it takes. But you let them shoot me."

"Martin, I didn't want them to shoot you. I didn't want you to die," Emily sniffled as her entire body started to shake.

"But you could have stopped them and didn't. I've seen you stop far more than bullets from a handgun," Martin said. "It's the same thing, really."

"No it isn't! It's entirely different. My hands were tied! We were in public in London. I can't just go doing magic out and about! It's illegal!" Emily waved her arms exasperatedly as she spoke.

"So is murder," Martin said.

"What was I supposed to do?" Emily yelled.

"You were supposed to save me. You were supposed to not be cowered into inaction by fear of reprisal from some government. You were supposed to be better than them," Martin said.

"It isn't that easy!" Emily scoffed.

"Yes it is. I'm not the only one you couldn't save. How many little girls suffered as you did in those orphanages? Little girls that deserve to be something more than treats for rich men with immoral tastes?" Martin asked.

"You went and watched that?" Emily frowned.

"Yes," Martin said. "And there's more like you. And no one tries to do anything about it. You could be the catalyst for total change. Magic can solve those problems."

"I can't just wave my wand and solve world hunger or pedophile rape dens," Emily scoffed.

"Yes you could," Martin said. "It wouldn't be that easy. You know you could do it though. You wanted to join the ministry to help war refugees, to reunite families, to make the world better. Do it now."

"I wouldn't be able to get a job at the ministry of I tried," Emily sighed.

"I think you could," Martin said. "I don't think Dumbledore would prevent it now. Now that you've become dejected and been put down. But I don't think you should join the ministry. I think you should force them to be better. Not toil away as a bureaucrat."

"So what attack them until they do what I want?" Emily laughed. "That's a hilarious thought. I'd be murdered by aurors in minutes."

"If I had to bet on every auror against you, I'd pick you," Martin said.

"You have to say that, we're married," Emily said.

"I'd bet on her too," Harry said quietly.

"Well then how are you going to kill her?" Ron asked.

"What?" Harry blinked as Ron spoke. He didn't know how to answer that question. Kill Emily Price? A sickening thought shot through his stomach as the thought hit him. He had to swallow back bile. He didn't want to kill Emily Price.

But he didn't have to, he told himself. He was destined to be forced to fight Lord Voldemort. He'd have to battle the Dark Lord that murdered his parents. That had to be a far cry from the twenty-something trying to cope with her grief.

"You're never going to be happy here, Em. You're never going to be happy rotting away in a house missing me. And you wouldn't be happy as a trophy wife to Burke, either. Although he would revere you. And you deserve to be happy," Martin said.

"Do I? I've done vile things," Emily said.

"Yes, you do. And you won't be happy doing nothing. And if you won't do it for yourself, well, you will do it for me," Martin said.

"Do what?" Emily asked.

"Change the world, Emily. Become the best they've ever seen. Become the symbol that makes it so little kids aren't raped or abused. The light that prevents the horrors you had to deal with. You're young, beautiful and determined. You can force the world to be better. And that's what I want you to do."

"I can't do that. That's an impossible challenge!" Emily said.

"And that's why it's worthy of pursuing. It pains me to admit this, but magic has not made the world better. You have so much power, so much potential, and yet the world remains stagnant. I can't believe I lived in a world with magic and it just sequesters itself and does nothing to actually better anything."

"We can't solve all the problems!" Emily said.

"No," Martin responded. "But you could solve a lot of the problems. Or at least some of them."

"Martin I wouldn't even know what to do," Emily sighed. "And they'd fight me if I tried doing things publicly with magic."

"Then you fight back. I am sure you'll be able to find people who understand that magic should be used for better. That it is your duty to make the world better. To fix the things that are wrong with it. Promise me you'll work toward that goal," Martin said.

Emily just looked at him for a moment, all of the fight seeming to slowly evaporate out of her. She slumped her shoulders and looked away from him. She was still squeezing the ring tightly in her hand, her knuckles white.

"I'll work on that," Emily said quietly.

"I didn't hear you," Martin said.

"I will work on that," Emily said, more determinedly.

"Good. I look forward to seeing it," Martin said. "Now give me a hug and send me on my way."

"Do I have to?" Emily asked.

"Yes," Martin said. "Staying in this world, Emily. It's agony. Let me go. Let me rest."

"I love you, Martin," Emily said as she stepped toward him and hugging him.

"I love you too," he whispered back. She shifted against him and slowly he dematerialized.

Emily sighed and looked down at the ring in her hand. She stared at it for a few moments and then looked ahead at the wall. She seemed like she was contemplating something. She waved her hand around and made a beckoning gesture to herself.

The sword, the tiara, the locket, and her book all flew toward her and floated behind her in the small bedroom. She turned and plucked the sword out of the air and walked through the small house and into office. She walked toward the stand that Martin had made and placed the sword gently on it. She paused for a moment and then waved her wand over the wall it resided on and it shimmered out of existence.

She stepped back toward the bedroom. She plucked the diary out of the air as she walked past it and tucked it into the nightstand next to her bed. She closed the drawer and again waved her hand over it.

She stepped over toward her dresser and opened up her jewelry box. She'd gotten it as a Christmas present from Burke a few years before. She opened it and placed the tiara inside. She turned back around and plucked the locket from the air. She placed it gingerly into the box and took a deep breath.

"What is she doing?" Ron asked.

"Well there's one more that she made," Harry said.

"Is she crying?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Harry said. He looked away from Ron and brushed a tear from his own face as Emily held her left hand up to her face. She kissed the ring once and then slowly slid it off of her finger. She tucked it into the box, flexing her left hand gingerly before closing the lid. She waved her hand once more before turning to her closet.

She pulled a black cloak out and wrapped it around her shoulders. She turned and left the house, locking it with another wave of her hand, and started down the London street.

"Where's she going?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "To make the world a better place?"

"Uhm, she fails at that," Ron said.

"Does she?" Harry asked.

"Yes, completely. She starts a war that kills a lot of people," Ron said.

"We're going to be late for the D.A," Harry said.

"That's in like four hours," Ron said.

"Fifteen minutes," Harry responded. "Time is weird in here. You get used to it."

"Weird," Ron said. Harry nodded and pulled him out of the memory. He put his stone guardian on top of the diary and activated it before leaving.

"Let's go," Harry said.

"What is that?" Ron asked, reaching for the dog.

"Don't touch it. It will take your hand off," Harry replied.

"Really?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Harry lied. He honestly wasn't sure exactly what it would do if someone tried to take the book. But he figured it wouldn't be pretty. He drew the curtains back from his bed and tried not to think about what anyone would have thought had they walked in to the two of them staring aimlessly at a book. Hopefully his house mates would give him the benefit of the doubt by now.

They picked Hermione up as they stepped into the common rom. She left with them, walking into the hallway, being careful to not be joined by anyone else as a foursome could constitute violating one of Umbridge's decrees and they didn't want to give anyone an excuse to send them back to the common room.

Harry thought it would be easier if he just threw on his invisibility cloak but Ron and Hermione both found that awkward for some reason. He kept the cloak on him just in case but in actuality he mostly just walked next to them toward the Room of Requirement.

"So were you boys finishing Snape's essay?" Hermione asked.

"Already done," Harry said. Hermione frowned at him, but should have known better than to ask.

"Can I copy it?" Ron asked. "I totally forgot."

"Normally I'd say yes but I really don't want to give him another excuse to banish my homework," Harry responded.

"Oh right, he does that to you," Ron said. Harry winced. He'd still been doing it at least once a week and it was really getting on his nerves. Hermione kept insisting he should go to Dumbledore. But he didn't.

"What were you doing then?" Hermione asked.

"Watching the diary," Ron said.

"You let Ron watch but not me?" Hermione sounded affronted.

"Well he just dropped in," Harry said.

"What was going on? Was it still war-torn England?" Hermione asked.

"No," Ron said. "It was weird. Voldemort found like a ghost of her husband and talked to him."

"Didn't you say she married a muggle, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"She did," Ron answered for him.

"Muggles can't become ghosts," Hermione said.

"Well he wasn't really transparent. But he did insist that he was dead," Ron said. "She did it with like a ring or something. Harry how do you think she did it anyway?"

"I don't know," Harry said, images of the golden ring dancing through his head. He wondered whatever happened to that ring. He wondered if he'd be able to find it, to at least say hello to his mother and father, to hear what they thought watching him.

He wanted to leave school and go searching for it. But all he knew was she hadn't put it in her jewelry box. Still, she'd put the locket in the box anyway and he'd found that at Grimmauld place. So, if he watched her he might figure out where it was. And he might be able to use it.

It warmed him to know that, if they were like Martin, they were viewing him, seeing what he was doing, and really, still with him even if he had no idea. Even if he never found the ring, and was never able to communicate with them, he still knew they were there, and watching him. And that made him want to do them proud.

He sniffed once at the thought but quickly played it off as a cold by wiping his sleeve over his nose. Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," Harry responded quickly. He saw Ernie Macmillan come around a corner and wave to him. He stopped and let Ron and Hermione step ahead of them. They both glanced but saw the approaching Hufflepuff and simply knew Harry was abiding by Umbridge's asinine rules of student gatherings.

"Hey Harry," Ernie said.

"Ernie," Harry nodded as the taller boy started walking next to him. They gave Ron and Hermione about a ten-step berth as they walked behind them.

"Care to give me a preview of tonight's lesson? I've been working on my blasting curse all week," Ernie said. "Hoping we get to blow more things up."

"Maybe as a review," Harry said. "Was thinking of getting more into actual combat spells and mechanics."

"Do you really know them?" Ernie asked.

"I know a fair number of spells and I've done some reading on dueling," Harry said. It wasn't even a lie. Remus and Sirius had given him some rather interesting books on the subject. It was supposed to be his Christmas gift but Sirius had made sure it found him before he went back to school. And he'd perused them a bit.

"Interesting," Ernie said, but he looked at him rather skeptically.

"It's mostly instinct and reaction anyway," Harry said. "But having more options at your disposal is never a bad thing."

"I would think so," Ernie said. "Either way I suspect it will help our grades come exam time."

"That's the worst part," Harry sighed. "It will make Umbridge look competent."

"Well, maybe all of Slytherin will fail," Ernie responded.

"One can only hope," Harry said as they climbed the stairs to the seventh floor. They lingered a flight below Ron and Hermione, to make it seem like they weren't heading to the same destination. He could overhear Hermione needling Ron about Emily. To his friend's credit, he didn't really directly answer her questions. In fact, he was surprisingly misleading on quite a few of them.

"Are they talking about a girl?" Ernie asked.

"I think so," Harry said. "I try to stay out of it."

"That's probably smart. The one time I took a side Susan and Hannah didn't speak to me for a month!" Ernie said.

"Yeah that sounds about right," Harry laughed.

"Wonder who they're talking about?" Ernie asked.

"No idea," Harry said.

"Shame," Ernie sighed as they stepped off the stairs at the seventh-floor landing just as the staircase began to rumble beneath them. Harry looked over his shoulder and saw Umbridge glaring up at them as the staircase moved and half wondered if the school itself was working against her.

Harry created the room when he arrived. He wandered through it and waited for other members to arrive as Ernie chatted amiably with Ron. Harry spent the time prepping small dueling platforms, like the one Emily had made in Chicago, and mostly ignored them.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Hermione asked as Harry worked. She'd actually managed to surprise him as he set up the platforms. Hermione was many things, but stealthy was not typically one of them. Harry blamed her innate need to lecture for it. Often she couldn't even make it fully to her target before she started.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said.

"Okay," Hermione said, looking at him carefully.

"What?" he asked.

"I just, I think you're spending too much time in that book. And then dragging Ron into it as well!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry saw Ernie narrow his eyes and look over at him. He winced, the last thing he wanted was to get more questions about the book or have more people become aware of its existence.

"I didn't drag Ron into it," Harry sighed. "He came himself. It's not like I said you can't." Harry regretted it almost as soon as he said it as he realized exactly what it opened the door for and, honestly, the last thing he wanted was to have Hermione trying to logically analyze everything Emily did. And he just knew she'd insist on researching every action. All he wanted to do was experience it. She'd want to write two feet of parchment on every single thing that Emily did.

Of course, he could always take her to like, Emily's wedding night and ask Hermione just what she thought it meant when they'd had sex with only about half of their wedding garb removed. He could already see her tittering between giggles and that nervous urge to explain everything. The thought amused him far more than it should have.

"You know I can't just sneak up to the boy's dormitory like Ron can!" Hermione said, looking visibly frustrated.

"Well you're certainly more able to do so than I am to sneak into your dormitory," Harry countered. Hermione made a frustrated gesture at him.

"Harry! I know you're doing it intentionally. You know perfectly well exactly what Lavender would say if I just disappeared into your dormitory for all hours? And the jokes Seamus and Dean would make if they caught us just sitting on your bed staring at some book?" Hermione said.

"So, to be clear, you're saying that that you don't want to be in my bed with me?" Harry asked. He wasn't quite sure what made him say it but it was completely worth it to see Hermione's expression.

She turned bright pink and her mouth fell open. She stared at him for a solid five seconds and then closed her mouth. Her stare went from surprised to annoyed as her blush deepened.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, causing the members of Dumbledore's Army who were filtering in to room to turn their attention away from their conversations and toward her and Harry.

"What?" he asked, faking legitimate surprise. "It sounds fun to me."

"Harry!" she gasped again.

"What do you say then? I can give you the invisibility cloak and you can sneak on up later tonight and we can, well, let's say we can watch all the memories you want," Harry teased.

"No!" She exclaimed. But she giggled and blushed more. She looked torn between slapping him and running away. Harry just smiled at her. She stammered something as Padma Patil entered the room and rushed away. Harry finished his work with the dueling platform.

He turned to look at the clock when he finished. There was still about ten minutes before they were set to start. Most everyone was paired up and chatting. He smirked to himself and couldn't resist continuing the joke. He stepped over toward where Hermione always put her bag. He took the invisibility cloak from his pocket and tucked it into her bag, between her potions and her arithmancy books and stepped back toward the center of the room.

"What's up with these?" Dean asked as he looked over at the platforms.

"We're going to start actually fighting tonight," Harry said. He said it louder than he intended and in doing so managed to quiet down the majority of the classroom. They all turned their attention to him.

"But is dueling really like being in a real fight?" Fred Weasley asked.

"No," Harry said. "But it's a way to learn. Maybe later on I'll try to make the room into a massive arena or something and we'll have a free-for-all. But that just doesn't seem like a good place to start out."

"That sounds fun, we could make it like a game," George said.

"Split it into teams by house too!" Ernie said.

"Sorta defeats the purpose of a free-for-all," Harry commented.

"Still could be fun," Ginny said.

"Probably," Harry said. "Anyway, before we get to that. I wanted to just review what we have been working to this point and then I figured I'd just sort of let you guys pair up and see what we have to work with and provide instruction from there."

"You're not going to tell us how to do it?" Michael Corner asked.

"Well, I can't tell you exactly how to do it. It's reaction. I've taught you shields and some offensive spells. It's just a matter of reacting and using them. If I told you what to do it wouldn't really be a reaction. It's not scripted when it happens in the real world so being scripted in here isn't really beneficial," Harry said.

"That seems like an excuse to not teach us," Michael said. "We're finally getting to the point that we signed up for and you don't want to tell us how to do it?" His comment annoyed Harry for reasons he couldn't quite place. Michael was always a bit difficult to work with but something about it today just pushed him over the edge.

"Stupefy," Harry said. The spell hit Michael before he could react and he fell to the ground. Students shifted away from him quickly, looking at Harry wide-eyed. He waved his wand over the fallen student, not even realizing he was lifting the stunning spell wordlessly, and Michael sat back up.

"What was that for?" he spat.

"Well you wanted to be taught how to do it," Harry said. "You failed your first lesson."

"You cock," Michael said and fumbled for his wand in his pocket. Harry stunned him again and then looked around at the rest of the gathered students.

"To review," Harry said.

"Constant Vigilance?" George Weasley said. Harry nodded.

"That about sums it up," he said. "But since we will be attacking each other tonight, I think we should start with a quick overview of shield charms."

And so they did. He went over shield charms and basic stunners and hexes for about fifteen minutes before he decided it was good enough for now. He was rather nervous to let them start fighting, as it occurred to him he knew very little healing magic and that there was probably a rather high chance of someone getting hurt.

He revived Michael Corner as everyone else got started. The boy looked at him with seething rage.

"Relax," Harry said. "You get to try to curse me now."

"Joy," Michael said dryly as Harry hopped up onto one of the dueling platforms. The boy failed to put forth anything that resembled a fight, but Harry just blocked his attacks, finding them rather easy to read as he did. He was able to keep enough attention on Michael to not get cursed, and still observe what was going on around the Room of Requirement as well.

The lesson continued on. It was going quite well, Harry thought. He managed to pass Michael off on a group of Ravenclaws and started to observe the others as well. He offered advice here and there and tried his best to help.

At least until the entire room shook.

"Earthquake?" Ron asked.

"That's stupid," Fred said. Ron glared at him, but the room shook again a moment later.

"No. It feels like something is trying to get in," George said. Harry turned his eyes toward the door as the room shook for a third time. The door pushed inward, as if someone was pushing it with a battering ram.

Harry closed his eyes. I need another exit, he thought to himself. I need another exit. Another exit. He felt the door appear behind him as bricks flew out of the wall in front of him.

"Run," Harry said to the class. Most didn't need to be told once, but others stayed near him.

"I can see them, Professor!" he heard Draco Malfoy yell triumphantly from outside.

"Run!" Harry ordered the stragglers.

"We're not going to leave you!" Ginny said.

"Yes you are," Harry said.

"No we're not," Ron said.

"The more people she catches the better it is for her. Get out. She already suspects me," Harry said.

"No," Ron responded instantly.

"Ginny, Fred, George, leave," Hermione said calmly. "If it's just the three of us we can pass it off as studying."

"No!" The Weasleys said at once.

"Go!" Harry yelled. He didn't even want Ron and Hermione to stay, but he knew that was a losing battle as more of the wall came down.

"Some of them are getting away!" Pansy Parkinson yelled.

"Tracey! Take Astoria and try to find where they're coming out! Round them up!" Umbridge yelled.

"What do we do?" Ron asked, looking panicked.

"We're not out after hours and we're not violating any decrees if it's just the three of us," Hermione said. "We explain that and she can't do anything to us."

"You're right," Ron said with more confidence. Harry held his wand in his hand and focused on the door. He watched as the bricks were forced away, and then as the door blew off its hinges and into the room. Ron had to jump away from it and the blasts of light that followed. He dodged two as Harry summoned the door to him, watching as the magic tore it to splinters as it shielded him and Hermione.

She dived toward the wall as Ron tried to get back to him. A red blast hit him, knocking him to the ground, followed by two silver ones that turned into festering wounds on him. Anger flashed through Harry as he counted ten Slytherin students and Professor Umbridge standing in the door, all firing spells and filtering into the room.

Crabbe and Goyle rushed toward where Hermione was cowering. Crabbe pulled her up by the hair and threw her into the wall as Goyle leveled his wand on her. Harry felt the rage flow through him, he felt his muscles tense, he felt like he was going to explode with raw power. His vision was growing red and blurry. He felt like he was about to black out. But then it changed.

He snapped, he knew. He would have sworn something whispered to him, a soft voice urging him to be calm, and telling him that eleven on one wasn't enough. That they should have brought more students.

And in that instant, everything slowed down. He slashed his wand and upended one of the dueling platforms, throwing it between himself and the door. He heard spells impact against it, but they seemed completely harmless at that point.

Instead his attention went to Crabbe and Goyle. He saw blood coming from the corner of Hermione's mouth and nose. He hit Goyle with a blasting curse, throwing him out of the way. Crabbe spun around and raised his wand on Harry. He practically yelled his spell in his mind and Harry could already tell there wouldn't be much power behind it. He shielded the reducto easily and his mind focused on Goyle's wrists.

Shatter, he thought to himself, and the large Slytherin thug shrieked in pain as his wrists obeyed Harry's commands. He slumped to the ground, yelling in pain and Harry turned his attention back to the door.

"Get him!" Umbridge yelled as the eight students blasted his wooden shield to pieces. He turned back to face them. They looked like they were running in mud. He slashed his wand through all of their incoming spells and wondered just how they were so weak. Combined he didn't think they could have totaled one of Emily's spells.

Daphne Greengrass was the closest to him. He shot one of the splintered pieces of the dueling platform at her. It pierced her shoulder and pinned her to the wall. She cried out in pain and raised her wand toward Harry again. He slashed his own back, pulling the splintering wood from her and transfiguring it into a cuff he used to pin her wand arm to the wall.

Seven, he thought.

"You prick!" Pansy Parkinson said and ran toward him not even firing spells. He shifted to the side and a spell from Draco hit her in the back. She fell face forward, some type of worms sprouting from her skin as she landed.

Six, he thought, as he stepped over her body and toward the door. Two younger students turned and ran as he stepped toward them. Five and Four, he thought as he let them run.

Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini were the next closest. Blaise was frozen staring at him, so it only took a quick stunning spell to get the count down to three.

"Crucio!" Theodore yelled. Harry tied to shield it, but it blasted through his defenses and hit him. His shield must have weakened it though, he thought. Because it didn't hurt as much as it had in the graveyard. He leveled his own wand on a seventh year standing behind Nott. He summoned the older student, pulling him directly into the diminutive Nott. It knocked him off balance and canceled the spell.

"Expulso," Harry muttered, banishing the older student into one of the stone walls. Two, he thought, as the student hit with an off-putting crunch.

Theodore was getting back to his feet. He looked at Harry and wound his wand back for another unforgivable. Again, Harry felt like he knew it was coming for weeks before it actually happened. It was like swatting down a fly as Theodore's legs broke in rapid succession.

One, he thought.

Draco Malfoy was standing in front of Professor Umbridge. She grabbed him by the neck and held him in front of her as a shield. Harry almost felt bad for Malfoy. But the annoying blond wasn't worth the effort. He waved his wand and pulled him from Umbridge, tossing him across the room.

Zero, he thought as his eyes leveled on Umbridge.

"You wouldn't dare attack a teacher!" she squealed in far too-high of a voice.

"You broke in and attacked me," Harry spat.

"You were breaking school rules young man!" Umbridge countered, her eyes wide with indignation.

"Three people," Harry growled. "Doing homework in a quiet classroom. And you came in firing. Eleven on three!"

"There were more of you I know it!" Umbridge said.

"There were three!" Harry yelled. "You attacked me!" He raised his wand. Two words flashing to the front of his brain. But before he could cast the spell, something ripped through his side.

He looked down at the fresh cut on his side. It didn't hurt. It was barely bleeding. But it infuriated him that he hadn't seen it coming. His eyes flashed toward Draco Malfoy, sitting near the wall, a smug look on his face as he prepared to mouth another word.

Harry yelled in annoyance. His wand never left Umbridge. His left hand flashed out and he felt the power surge through him. It was intoxicating. Pure strength seemed to emanate from his very self, to manifest through his arm, to his fingers, and then out. He felt the shockwave flash through the room.

The brunt of it went square into Draco Malfoy. He saw his body snap back. He watched him lift into the air and smash against the wall. Her heard his skull impact on it loudly. He watched Draco's body twitch and go limp.

Harry looked down at his hand, his eyes going wide. He'd seen that shockwave before. He'd felt that shockwave before. But he had no idea how to cast that. Much less to do so simply by pointing his hand. He stared at his fingers in confusion, completely forgetting the situation until he heard a single word.

"Stupefy!" Umbridge yelled gleefully. Harry turned and raised his wand but the magic hit him before he could counter.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for some beta work.

Chapter 24

He immediately felt something was wrong. But there was nothing he could do about it. There was pain, immediate pain, piercing pain, pain worse than anything he could possibly imagine. But he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't see it. He couldn't sense the specifics of it. He couldn't even really feel it. But he knew it was there. He knew it was everywhere, ripping him apart with each passing minute.

And then everything felt colder, duller, weaker. He relaxed. He couldn't move still, but everything seemed calmer. Everything seemed okay. He let himself slip toward that, deeper into the cold, thinking it would be alright.

No! Something screamed in his head. No, it wasn't something. It was his own thoughts. No. No. No. No. No. Do not let that happen. Stay focused. Stay awake. Stay up. Stay alive. Fight it. Fight it.

The mantra repeated in his head as if someone were chanting it. Over and over and over and over. He couldn't tell how many times he heard it. But he kept hearing it. Until a warmth started to fill him. A very small warmth at first, coming from around his throat. Slowly it spread through him. Until he felt like he was on fire.

And then the mantra stopped and he knew it was okay. At least for the moment, and he drifted away slowly.

Harry still couldn't move when he woke. His entire boy was numb and he could feel magic restraining him to the bed. Beneath the numbness was the familiar pain of repeated injury. But he didn't remember being hurt by anything. He wondered what happened after he was stunned.

He could hear Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy talking in hushed tones next to one of the beds at the end of the wing. He wondered if he should thank them for the copious amounts of wine and champagne that he and Emily had at their Chicago home. But figured now probably wasn't the best time for that.

He tried to sit up to look around but the magic around him did not allow him to move. He frowned. Or at least tried to, he couldn't really tell if his lips moved as he did so. His eyes seemed to be the only part of him really working properly, so he let them wander around the hospital. His friends didn't seem to be present, but there were some covered beds. That wasn't a good sign.

He watched as Narcissa turned and saw him. She sneered and tugged on her husband's arm. Lucius turned to look at him as well.

"The boy is awake," Lucius said. "Someone find the headmistress." The word stuck out in his head. Headmistress? No. What would have happened to Dumbledore that his head of house would have had to take over the head position? He saw a Slytherin girl step out of the hospital. He assumed she was obeying Lucius.

"He's fighting against the bindings," Narcissa said. And Harry realized he was. He was slowly overpowering the magic. He saw Narcissa take out her wand and level it on him.

"Cast that spell and I will have you thrown out of the castle," Minerva McGonagall said from the doorway. Narcissa Malfoy glared at the transfiguration professor but did lower her wand. McGonagall leveled her own on Harry and he felt the magic lift. He sat up on the bed but had enough experience in the hospital to not try more than that until Pomfrey looked at him.

"Water?" he whispered hoarsely. McGonagall nodded at him and a glass floated over to him. He sipped it as his head of house fetched the nurse.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"Very weak," Harry said.

"Understandable," Pomfrey said. "Lay back and rest for now. Your guardians have been informed of what happened. We're waiting for their response."

"Siri-" Harry started, but McGonagall interrupted him.

"No, your legal guardians, Harry. Tell me, what do you remember?"

"Hermione, Ron and I were studying in an empty classroom when they broke in and attacked us," Harry said.

"Who's they?" McGonagall asked.

"A bunch of Slytherins and Professor Umbridge," Harry said. "I'm not sure I can name them all."

"And what happened next?" McGonagall asked.

"Well two of them, Crabbe and Goyle, I remember, went for Hermione. They cursed her and they were bashing her body against the wall. I banished one away from her and cursed the other," Harry said. "So they wouldn't hurt her more. Is she okay?"

"She has already been discharged and sent back to the common room. There was no lasting damage," McGonagall said with a trace of bitterness in her voice. "Do you recall what miss Granger was wearing this evening?"

"Sweater, white shirt, tie, skirt, stockings," Harry said. "What she always wears for classes. She hadn't changed out of it, why?"

"And what happened to Mister Weasley?" McGonagall asked, ignoring his question.

"He was cursed pretty early on and fell behind some debris," Harry said.

"You only saw the one spell hit him?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes," Harry said.

"And after that?" she asked.

"Well they tried to curse me so I cursed them back. Professor Umbridge stunned me though," Harry said.

"Who used the unforgivable on you?" McGonagall asked.

"Theodore Nott," Harry said.

"And the cutting hex?" Pomfrey asked.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry said.

"That is no excuse for what he did to our son!" Lucius said.

"Is he okay?" Harry asked, not really caring about the answer but figuring it was better to show some sort of remorse for it.

"He has a few broken bones. More seriously, though, he has separated his spinal column. He will be fine but it will take a few days to regrow everything properly," Pomfrey said. "Professor Umbridge claims you used a wandless magical shockwave on him. But they found him under a pile of debris which seems like the more likely cause for the injuries."

"Professor Umbridge is being ridiculous," McGonagall said. "No fifth-year student can cast a powerful enough magical shockwave to do such damage. Much less a wandless one. The last time I saw someone manage magic like that was You-Know-Who at Brecon. She cleared the field with one." Harry's eyes darted to McGonagall and he started to ask, but then another voice spoke from the door.

"How nice of you to express your opinion of me so openly, Minerva," Professor Umbridge said as she stepped into the hospital wing with Astoria Greengrass.

"Headmistress," Pomfrey said tersely. McGonagall just glared at her. Harry's heart fell as the toad of a woman smirked knowingly at him. Severus Snape and Cornelius Fudge followed her into the room. Snape looked bored whereas Fudge looked like a child on Christmas morning.

"Good, he is awake. Now let's get down to business," Fudge said.

"What business could that possibly be?" McGonagall asked.

"The expulsion and imprisonment of Harry Potter of course!" Fudge yelled gleefully. Strangely, the words didn't make Harry feel as hollow he expected they would. He wondered if he could convince Emily to take him to Chicago again if he couldn't stay at school.

No, a voice whispered in his head. San Francisco would be a better option. Or someplace on the Pacific. He'd like the ocean.

"Oh. I don't remember the inquest hearing or the vote," McGonagall said.

"What?" Fudge asked.

"Forgive me, Minister," Snape said. "But a student can only be expelled after a hearing about their actions and the subsequent unanimous approval from the four heads of house and the headmaster. It is one of Hogwarts oldest bylaws."

"That can be changed. Old laws should not stand in the way of progress," Umbridge said gleefully.

"Perhaps," Snape said. "But an ex post facto ruling of that nature would not legally hold up under any sort of scrutiny."

"The boy violated a ministry decree and violently attacked multiple students!" Umbridge exclaimed.

"Which decree did he violate?" McGonagall asked.

"He was running an illegal defense group!" Umbridge exclaimed.

"You already lost this fight in Dumbledore's office," McGonagall sighed. "You caught three students in a classroom. Yes, there was a list of names dating back from before such a gathering was illegal. But you have no actual proof that more than three people intended to be at that meeting. In fact, given Miss Granger's penchant for organization it is not surprising that she kept that list. She still has copies of all her homework from first year."

"He still attacked students," Umbridge said. Her face was flushed a very deep crimson and Harry thought she looked a bit like a rocket about to explode.

"My boy was maimed, I will demand justice," Lucius said.

"And you shall get it Mr. Malfoy!" Fudge replied adamantly.

"I demand he be expelled. The trauma my boy has to suffer!" Lucius said. He looked like he was going to continue but he caught Snape's eyes. Snape was shaking his head behind Fudge. Malfoy paused and looked curiously at the man.

"Punishment is still a proxy of the head of house," McGonagall responded. "If Mr. Potter chooses to remain at Hogwarts he will serve one detention a week with me through the remainder of term."

"That is ludicrous for what he did!" Fudge said.

"I beg to differ, Minister," Pomfrey said. "As I have already logged in my official report, Harry Potter was admitted into my care with worse injuries than anyone else this evening. Every bone in his body was broken. He had severe internal bleeding, was missing one eye, and had severe trauma to his head. Upon seeing him I summoned a team of healers from St. Mungo's and after extensive magical intervention we were able to get him into a stable condition."

"What?" Fudge said, glaring at Umbridge.

"After Madame Pomfrey informed me of this I sent a letter to Vernon and Petunia Dursley explaining what happened to their ward. A magical solicitor was sent to their home this evening as well to discuss their options," McGonagall said.

"What?" Fudge yelled.

"Professor Umbridge," McGonagall started.

"Headmistress Umbridge," Umbridge hissed.

"Claims that she never let Mr. Potter out of her sight this evening. Mr. Potter claims that Mr. Nott used an unforgivable curse on him."

"That's insane, the boy is obviously deranged," Fudge said.

"Mr. Nott's wand showed he did indeed cast the cruciatus curse tonight. The bodily damage to Mr. Potter indicates it was mere seconds before Professor Umbridge stunned him. Professor Umbridge claims she did not witness it," McGonagall said.

"I couldn't see everything that was going on," Umbridge said quietly.

"The rest of Mr. Potter's injuries were sustained after he was stunned, at a time when she stated she was watching him," Pomfrey stated.

"I saw no such things!" Umbridge said.

"Five healers from St. Mungo's will corroborate my opinion on when the injuries were sustained. Most were within twenty seconds of him being stunned," Pomfrey said.

"The students were merely reacting to how Mr. Potter tried to cripple them," Fudge said.

"And the attempted rape on Miss Granger, who was a bystander in the fight?"

"What?" Fudge shrieked again, this time turning on Umbridge.

"I know nothing of it!" Umbridge said. "Baseless accusations!"

"Miss Granger reported missing multiple pieces of clothing to me. She had bruising and lacerations on her abdominal area. While there was no evidence of penetration, the markings are likely the result of a sexual assault," Pomfrey said.

"Dolores what in the world are you doing here?" Fudge shrieked.

"They are lying! I saw no such thing in either case."

"Miss Granger was examined by Healer Patel of St. Mungo's. Her report was left on my desk. She cannot identify the assailants due to being unconscious at the time of the assault," Pomfrey said.

"Oh of course. So, she can't prove anything," Umbridge spat. "Let me guess, Mr. Weasley is now magically a quadruple amputee?"

"No, Mr. Weasley merely had a concussion and some minor abrasions. He is otherwise unharmed," Pomfrey said.

"Excuse me, minister," Snape said from behind him.

"What?" Fudge snapped.

"Perhaps the ministry would be better suited attempting to come to some sort of an arrangement with Potter and Granger to prevent this from becoming public. If such actions occurred, and occurred within sight of a Hogwarts Professor, the school could be considered liable for them. And given your push this year that Hogwarts is firmly under ministry control, the ministry could then be seen as liable," Snape said.

"I want Harry Potter gone!" Fudge yelled.

"Surely Dumbledore gone means you've won," Snape responded. "Would you rather have Mr. Potter out on the run with Dumbledore. Or here under your thumb? I know if you let this go to an inquest and try to expel him based on the evidence we've been presented, none of the four heads would vote in favor of expulsion."

"Including you, Severus?" Lucius Malfoy spat.

"Including me, Lucius," Snape said. "We have no evidence that Mr. Potter was engaging in any illegal activity at the time. And multiple student in my own house have admitted that they fired on him and his friends first. They will be disciplined accordingly. Mr. Nott is being guarded by the Aurors you brought with you as is."

"Heavens why?" Fudge asked.

"In case Mr. Potter wishes to press charges," Snape said. And it seemed to dawn on Fudge and Harry in that moment in that moment.

"Right, nasty business those curses," Fudge said. He took off his bowler hat and spun it around in his hands. Harry, though, wondered if he wanted to press charges. His instinct said yes, but would he really gain anything from that? Or at least could he use it to gain something more than sending Theodore Nott to prison?

He didn't know. He wanted to talk to Sirius or Dumbledore. But he didn't need to talk to Dumbledore. He knew the headmaster would preach leniency. He always preached leniency. And perhaps he had a point. Harry wasn't sure one way or another and he was finding his thoughts cloudy and slow.

"Well, Potter?" Snape said.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I'd like to have the papers stop calling me insane."

"That seems like a fair trade," Lucius Malfoy said.

"Yes, yes," Fudge said.

"Mister Potter is a minor," McGonagall said. "His guardian would have to make any such decisions."

"Surely we don't need to get muggles involved," Fudge frowned. "Muggles just make it more complicated. They never understand. Such small-minded people. Always just focused on what they can get out of it themselves."

"It's better to settle it sooner than later," Snape said.

"Are we not getting rid of the boy?" Umbridge raved. "He's a maniac and the school is less safe with him at it!"

"Nonsense Dolores," Fudge said, waving his hat at her. "Dumbledore was dangerous. Harry will be much better behaved with that sphere of influence gone." Harry opened his mouth to make a snarky comment, but the look on McGonagall's face said that he should rethink that. So he stayed quiet.

"But Minister!" Umbridge exclaimed.

"Now now, Dolores. He's a young man manipulated by someone he respected. I'm sure once he knows the truth he'll be able to see the other side," Fudge said. "He just needs to make sure he has all of the information."

"What he really needs is rest," McGonagall said. "Poppy can you escort Mister Potter back to his dormitory? I'm sure I can negotiate anything for him by proxy until his relatives arrive."

"Of course," Pomfrey said. "Come on, Harry, let me help you up."

"What?" Harry blinked, confused by all that was going on around him as Pomfrey helped him from the bed. Before he could protest they were out of the hospital wing. "I should stay."

"No, it's best if you're out of there. You're more likely to stay at Hogwarts if they stop having the reminder that you're still there," Pomfrey said.

"The Dursley's won't help me," Harry said.

"They aren't coming," Pomfrey said. "That was a ruse to make Fudge worry about the negative publicity from the children of accused Death Eaters attacking people who live with Muggles."

"What should I do?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Pomfrey said. "After what I saw. I would think that maybe it's the time to lay low and let them think they've won. It's not the time for rash decisions." The words rang through his head. After what she saw. He frowned.

"Can I ask a question?" he asked.

"Of course," Pomfrey said.

"If Draco has a separated spine and is still stuck in the hospital wing, and I had more broken bones and lost an eye and other things, how am I walking out?" Harry asked. Pomfrey paused and took a deep breath.

"Dumbledore knew he was going to have to leave. He didn't want you to be left alone, unconscious, with them. He didn't trust them. We had multiple healers come in but it wasn't enough. You were fighting so hard but the damage was done. The magic couldn't keep up," Pomrey said. Harry noticed her voice crack, she sniffed once.

"Yet here I am," He said.

"Nicholas Flamel gave Dumbledore a small dose of the Elixir of Life in his will. He gave you that. It and the magic restored you," Pomfrey said.

"Wow," Harry said quietly.

"That's how much he values you," Pomfrey said. "After they pinned your defense group on him. But they only managed to catch the three of you so Dumbledore admitted to attempting to orchestrate it and fled. It gave us enough time to make sure you were okay and now to get out of sight."

"I need to leave," Harry said. "I should go after Dumbledore."

"No," Pomfrey said. "He ordered all of the heads to make sure you stay here. You are safe here. Minerva will tell you to stay away from Dolores. Don't give her any excuses to jeopardize that protection. Dumbledore has a plan. And for now, your best course of action is to let it play out."

"I can't stay here," Harry said.

"You can, Harry. And you must. We need you here," she said.

"What?" he laughed.

"You're hope," she said. "You can't be missing. You have to be present. People believe you when they can see you. So you need stay where they can constantly be reminded of that."

"Fine," Harry said. He didn't believe her. But he knew he wouldn't win the argument as they stepped toward the portrait that guarded the entrance of Gryffindor Tower.

"Here we are," Pomfrey said.

"One more thing?" Harry asked, remembering a name that stuck in his head.

"Yes?" Pomfrey responded.

"Who is Healer Patel? The one that examined Hermione?" Harry asked.

"She was a mentor of mine. She currently heads up the pediatrician wing of St. Mungo's. She's one of the more dedicated healers I know. She's been doing it for sixty years or so. Your friend was in good hands," Pomfrey said. Harry nodded. Healer Patel. He shook his head. Maybe the world was smaller than he thought. Maybe he should just start asking around.

But before he could contemplate that any more, Pomfrey helped him through the portrait hole and told him to focus on getting some rest.

Naturally the common room was filled to the gills when he entered. He was immediately swarmed by everyone there. Hundreds of questions flew his way. Most of which he didn't have an answer to, much less the time to answer them.

Eventually it was Ginny and Fred who saved him. The pulled him from the mass and convinced the rest of the Gryffindor's to leave him alone. He took a deep breath and asked the first question that came into his head.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked.

"Their dormitories," Fred said. "They both looked like they needed rest. Hermione was pretty shaken up. What happened?"

"They broke in and we lost," Harry said. "But it looks like everyone else got away."

"Yeah, none of us got caught. The room put us all over the place and everyone was smart enough to just head back to their common rooms. They're saying that you killed Draco Malfoy," Ginny said.

"I didn't," Harry responded.

"Oh," Ginny said. "And they're saying Umbridge is the headmistress now."

"She is," Harry said.

"Well you're just filled with bad news," Fred joked.

"I guess," Harry said. "I need to sleep though. I'm sure there will be a thousand ministry decrees explaining everything tomorrow."

"I look forward to not reading them," Fred said. Harry couldn't help but chuckle.

"Night guys," he said.

"Good night Harry," Ginny said as he stepped up the stairs and to his dormitory. He changed quickly and tossed himself onto his bed when he got there. The stone guardian growled at him until it realized who he was. It crawled onto his chest then and he pet it gently as he drifted off to sleep.

The days that followed were horrible. Theodore Nott was removed from the school. No one was quite sure what happened to him, rumors from Azkaban to Durmstrang filled the students' imaginations. Harry didn't pay that much attention to it.

He kept his head down. It was almost painful to do while Umbridge pontificated about how terrible Dumbledore was. And how the Ministry would improve everything. He could have sworn she was watching him, and only him, during her speeches, just waiting for him to make some sort of comment. But he managed to keep his mouth shut during both her pre-meal lectures and her classroom time.

Harry had noticed, though, that all of Slytherin now gave him a very wide berth. A seventh year had taunted him in the hallway a few days after Dumbledore's flight. Harry had simply turned and looked at the elder boy. Before he could even think of a comment or a reaction, two other students had dragged the boy away.

Harry supposed it helped that it had taken a week before Draco Malfoy had been released from the hospital. Draco had since seemed to go out of his way to avoid Harry whenever possible. Which was not something Harry saw reason to complain about.

Ron seemed as normal as ever. It took him a few days to completely recover from his concussion. He'd drawn a fair amount of attention from his role in the fight. Or at least his attempting to stay behind and defend Harry. Harry didn't really want to talk about what actually happened, so he let Ron embellish stories of his and Hermione's bravery instead.

Hermione hadn't recovered as quickly. While she'd been physically fine shortly after, Harry couldn't help but notice she was more reserved than normal. She was less likely to instantly volunteer all of the answers in class, and often seemed rather distant.

If Harry was honest he sort of missed her haranguing on whether or not he and Ron had done their homework yet, or understood the lesson, or were wasting time playing chess. But the best he could figure was that it would return when she was ready for it to return.

He made a point to spend time with her as much as he could. She spent less time in the library than was normal for her. Harry assumed she didn't really want to be near people, much less near any Slytherins.

So mostly she stayed in the common room. And Harry would sit next to her on her couch while she studied. She didn't really say anything to acknowledge his presence, but he could tell that she appreciated it nonetheless. And it was something little he could do to make her feel better. There was no chance he wouldn't do it.

He'd kept watching the diary in his free time and during most of Umbridge's classes. He'd paid less attention to it than he had in the past. The images seemed to have less meaning than they had before to him.

Emily had started going to meetings of some sort, siting in the back and listening as people complained about the new blood, the changing times, and anything else they could think of. She saw Burke at a few of these meetings. He would sit next to her and try to talk to her. She would listen but rarely respond.

Until, after what felt like months to Harry, she muttered something about them only being interested in complaining and not actually doing anything about the world they lived in. She left then.

Harry followed her through London. She paused outside of an abandoned orphanage. She stared at the building for a few moments. Then, in broad daylight, she took out her wand and leveled it on the structure. It rumbled and collapsed into a pile of stone causing a few people passing by to run away in terror.

Emily didn't spare it another look as she walked away from the building. She stepped into a church a few blocks away. He followed her as she walked slowly up the aisle, letting her hands skim across the wooden pews. She paused up near the altar and waited.

Minutes later an old priest stepped out from a back room. His garb was rather disheveled, like he'd just thrown it on. The man did a double take when he saw her.

"Emily?" he asked in disbelief. Emily turned to look at him. Harry wondered to himself just how she knew this man. It was not the church she'd been wed in, nor was he the priest who had officiated the ceremony.

"Come out," she said, speaking toward the door the priest had come from.

"There's no one else here," the priest said.

"Come out," Emily said more sternly.

"I said there's no one there," the man said. But just as he finished speaking the door opened. A small blonde girl in a torn gown walked out slowly, looking very frightened. Harry thought she reminded him quite a lot of Gabrielle Delacour.

Emily sighed audibly and looked the girl up and down.

"Do you have a home?" she asked. The girl nodded swiftly. "Go there." The girl turned and moved out of the church. Emily watched her leave and then, once the doors to the church slammed shut, she turned her attention back to the priest.

"It's not what it looks like," he said. Emily just raised her brows at him. "It's not the same. I was just help—" but he never finished the sentence. Emily waved her hand at him and Harry watched as his head slid from his shoulders before she turned to leave.

Harry watched the pattern continue. She found people she disliked and eliminated them, for lack of a better word. It was all very impersonal to her. She never showed much emotion during it. And it was always quick.

But she still seemed lost, Harry thought. She spent a lot of time sitting around and thinking. Eventually she returned to those meetings, stepping in during the middle of one, cloaked in all black with a hood pulled up over her eyes.

Harry saved that for a later day, though. He found himself oddly less invested as he sort of knew the outcome. Part of him wanted to go back and watch the earlier years rather than continue with the story.

He started his detentions with McGonagall shortly after. He thought she was going to have him doing lines or other suitably awful work. But instead she just handed him rolls of essays her first and second years had done. She helped him grade the first few, telling him what she was looking for in each of them, and then left him to figure out the rest.

That only took him about an hour and she told him to work on his own coursework for the next hour. The same pattern followed their next two detentions. They were mostly silent. If he had a question about one of the papers she would answer, or if he was confused about his transfiguration assignment. But he didn't often have a question he couldn't answer himself.

She let him go about ten minutes before lights out after his third detention. He neatly piled the essays and returned them to her before tucking his homework into his bag. He took out the Marauder's Map as he stepped out of McGonagall's office and peered at it.

His first thought was to make sure that no members of Umbridge's stupid squad were between he and the common room. And his second was to make sure that Umbridge wasn't between he and the common room. It simply made things easier if he didn't encounter them in the halls.

There wasn't anyone in his path back to the common room so he started making his way up to it, his eyes peering over the map every now and again to see if there was anyone to join on his walk back. No one stuck out.

He just let his eyes wander over the parchment until two dots stuck out. He blinked and nearly dropped the parchment. He immediately looked down the corridor in the general direction of where they would be on the map. It was a pointless gesture as they were floors away from him. When he looked back down at the map he saw one of the two dots fade away. He immediately set off toward the other.

No one bothered Lord Voldemort as she entered Hogwarts. It was amazing how easy it was to hide in plain sight, especially when students were involved. She didn't even have to do much by way of disguise. No, all she had to do was pull her hair back and wear a frumpy looking dress with a cloak over it and all the students just assumed she was someone's mom come to make a visit. Students were amazingly bad at judging the ages of people and often wouldn't bother looking twice if it wasn't crucially important to them.

She'd timed her arrival for dinner. Most everyone was in the Great Hall. She strode past it without difficulty and continued toward the office she wished to see. Snape had told her that the head office would not open for Umbridge, and given her directions to where the ministry crone had set up shop.

Dolores Umbridge wasn't present when she entered. No doubt she was at the feast lecturing on a proper ministry education. Lord Voldemort peered around the office finding the entire thing to be filled with two things she disliked a great deal. Pink and cats.

There wasn't much she could do about the pink. Well, that wasn't true. There was plenty she could do about the pink. But none of it that was really worth the time. The cats in the portraits and plates that lined the office, though. That was something she could combat.

She raised her wand to one of the portraits and conjured a snake inside of it. The cat in that portrait prowled over and pawed at it once. The snake promptly ate it. The other cats howled and shrieked as the snake started to slither from portrait to portrait and attack the other creatures. Voldemort watched for a few moments before stepping around the office.

It didn't take her long to find what she wanted. She plucked it out of the ornate case it rested in and placed it next to a clean roll of parchment on the desk, in front of the ornate, and obviously pink, chair. She sat in the less ornate chair across from it and waited, quietly cheering on her monster as it rid the office of pests.

By the time Professor Umbridge returned to her office, the snake had already eaten all of the cats. It was curled up sleeping in one of the portraits in the top corner of the office. The Professor closed the door behind her as she entered.

"Who are you?" she asked, rather bluntly. She looked a bit frazzled and Lord Voldemort suspected that her first weeks of rule were not going nearly as well as she'd hoped.

"I've a problem with how you're treating one of your students," Voldemort said.

"You look a bit young to have pushed one of those whelps out," Umbridge said. Voldemort raised an eyebrow at her.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"And I assure you that Minister Fudge has approved all of my teaching methods. I can show you the approval paperwork if that will quell any of your concerns. Some things may seem mildly harsh but I assure you they are acceptable educational practices, Miss…"

"Price," Voldemort responded instinctually. She winced slightly as she said it. Some habits just tended to slip out here and there, even when one thought they'd broken them.

"Price? I don't recall a student named Price," Umbridge sat at her desk and looked oddly down at the quill and paper before looking back at Lord Voldemort.

"It's not one of mine," Voldemort said.

"So, you have managed to keep your legs shut then," Umbridge spat. "With the way these students act I'm surprised half of the girls aren't already pregnant."

"Excuse me?" Voldemort asked again. She had a hard time believing that this woman would have gotten away with talking like that to most people. But she'd met plenty of politicians. And she knew that most of them were not afraid of a twenty-something girl in shabby clothing. Their mistake. Often their last mistake.

"So which whelp is it that you're so concerned about?" Umbridge asked.

"Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort said.

"Harry Potter?" Umbridge laughed. "The ministry already settled with his family. Are you some muggle relative trying to get more coinage out of us?"

"No. Not a muggle or a relative," Voldemort said.

"Then I have no reason to discuss Harry Potter with you. Although I assure you he has not been treated any differently than any other student and the gross rumors that are spreading about the last few weeks are nothing more than that. We are concerned with nothing more than the safety of our students. Kindly leave my office," Umbridge said.

"No," Voldemort said.

"I will have you removed by force if you stay," Umbridge said.

"No," Voldemort laughed. She changed her outfit, windlessly, with little more than a thought, letting the dress and cloak change into a much better fitting black number. She then shifted so she was siting lazily across the chair. "You don't have enough sway to do so. Nor do you have nearly enough power behind you to make me move an inch."

"You leave me no option," Umbridge said. She stood and moved toward the door and then froze in place.

"Sit," Voldemort said. Umbridge struggled for a moment before she sat back down at her desk.

"What did you do to me?" Umbridge asked.

"We are going to discuss Harry Potter and we are going to do so alone and uninterrupted," Voldemort said.

"Where are my cats?" Umbridge responded, gazing around the office at the empty portraits.

"I wouldn't worry about them," Voldemort responded. "You'll find out soon enough."

"What do you want?" Umbridge exclaimed, her voice growing more panicked.

"I've already told you. I wish to discuss your treatment of Harry Potter," Voldemort said.

"Who are you?" Umbridge said, narrowing her eyes.

"You already know that," Voldemort said.

"I don't know anyone named Price," Umbridge responded.

"How did anyone so daft ever become an undersecretary," Voldemort sighed. "I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. The truly exceptional often do not pursue politics as a career."

"How dare you," Umbridge said. She reached for her wand but her hand stopped halfway there.

"I told you, Dolores, we are going to have a conversation. It will go much easier if I do not have to sit here and deal with the substandard hand-waving that you call casting," Voldemort said.

"What could you possibly want with that ungrateful whelp," Umbridge said.

"I've actually found him to be quite considerate of those that assist him," Voldemort said. "And quite empathetic to nearly everyone around him."

"What do you want?" Umbridge asked.

"I want you to stop harming Harry Potter," Voldemort said.

"I will treat him as I treat any other student. Which is more than he deserves. He should be locked away in Azkaban for the slander he exposes," Umbridge said.

"Perhaps. You did not understand me though. You are going to stop harming Harry Potter. Harry Potter is mine and you will no longer do anything to endanger him," Voldemort said.

"I will not treat him any differently than I do any other misbehaving student," Umbridge said.

"I am not giving you a choice in this matter," Voldemort said. "You will never again harm Harry Potter. I am going to make sure of that. You have hurt him in ways you cannot imagine and I will no longer allow it."

"You do not have any authority over what I do," Umbridge said. "I want you to leave my office immediately!"

"I have the ultimate authority over what you do," Voldemort said. Umbridge just glared at her.

"Just what is your stake with the boy anyway?" she asked.

"He is mine," Voldemort said. "That is all you need to know."

"He's young for you, isn't he? That's disgusting," Umbridge said.

"You're a fool," Voldemort sighed, shaking her head. "A pity you may have been of use. But you went too far."

"Oh, just what are you accusing me of?" Umbridge laughed.

"Things far less heinous than what you've accused me of. Some things I could have tolerated. A little pain and hardship can be good for the soul. I could have even accepted your isolating him. But you couldn't stop there. You couldn't take a small win. You had to push back too hard. He was seconds from killing you, you know. I had to stop him," Voldemort said.

"What?" Umbridge asked.

"In the Room of Requirement. When he was yelling at you. The killing curse was on the tip of his tongue before he got distracted and I shut him down," Voldemort said. "He isn't quite ready for that yet."

"I stunned him," Umbridge said.

"And then tortured his unconscious body. I know, I watched," Voldemort said.

"I did no such thing," Umbridge spat.

"Letting it happen is no different than doing it yourself," Voldemort said. "Regardless, I can't allow for someone else to hurt him so dearly. Nor could I allow for him to kill you. He's not ready to suffer that. And you are not worth it."

"Are you threating me? I am a senior ministry official!" Umbridge said.

"Oh, don't fret, Dolores," Voldemort smiled. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Then get out of my office!" Umbridge shrieked.

"You're going to kill yourself," Voldemort continued.

"I would do no such thing," Umbridge shrieked. She tried to stand but Voldemort forced her back into her chair without even moving her hand.

"Pick up the quill and write 'I tortured Harry Potter and other students with this same quill and I can no longer live with the shame of that that on my conscience,' until it is done," Voldemort said.

"I refuse! You cannot make me!" Umbridge said.

"I can, actually," Voldemort said. "But I am giving you the choice, Dolores. Your final act on this planet can be something you do yourself. Or, you can be a coward about it and prove you're nothing more than a pawn that let minimal power go to her head."

"How dare you insult me," Umbridge spat.

"Pick up the quill," Voldemort said, letting the power of the Imperius curse filter into her voice. Umbridge picked up the quill.

"What are you doing?" Umbridge asked. Her mask broke in that moment and the tears started to slip down her face.

"Last chance," Voldemort said. "Do it yourself or I do it for you."

"No, I refuse. I won't," Umbridge started. Voldemort just sighed.

"Write," she said. And Dolores Umbridge put the blood quill to the parchment and the words slipped from her.

It was slow going. Very slow. The entire affair took nearly three hours as the nib scratched on the parchment. Umbridge shrieked at first, but after a few lines her shrieks settled into sobs as the writing started to spread from her hand, up her arm, over her neck and face. Every inch of her became covered with the same sentence, condemning her of her actions since the beginning of the term.

Voldemort never took her eyes off of her as she worked. She watched as Umbridge started to droop and weaken. She watched as she collapsed in the midst of the sentence, with the writing spreading down her legs, blood staining her pink clothing. She watched as the Headmistress of Hogwarts died at her desk.

Emily Price stood once it was over. She stared down in distaste at failure of an educator before her. It was better than Umbridge deserved, she thought. But there was no point in staying and risking being caught. She waved her hand and the snake vanished from the portrait and she stepped out of the office.

She could already hear footsteps approaching. Perhaps the teacher's screams had been louder than she thought. She pulled the cloak up over her head and started toward the main entrance.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the Beta work.

Chapter 25

Harry slid down the stairs, tripping over an invisible step as the descended down toward the entrance hall. He turned one last corner and saw the black-cloaked figure as she strode toward the exit of the castle. His heart stopped as he stared at her.

He didn't say anything, but she turned nonetheless as if she knew he was there. She raised her brows and looked over at him as he stepped up toward her.

"You are not supposed to be here," Emily said. "You are supposed to be heading back to your common room after your detention with McGonagall."

"Why are you here?" he asked, ignoring that she knew exactly what he was doing before she came.

"Harry, it is imperative that you get back to your common room quickly. You will want to be where people know where you are. And the more people that can identify you there, the better," Emily said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Plausible deniability," Emily said.

"What did you do?" Harry asked.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself about," Emily said. "But you will not need to worry about detention with Professor Umbridge any longer."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"She killed herself," Emily said. "With a blood quill. Very sad. I'm sure there will be mourning and a funeral and the ministry will be quite upset with everything."

"Why would she do that? That doesn't sound like her at all," Harry said, sounding genuinely confused at the statement.

"Well she had some help," Emily said. "But you really should be back in your common room, Harry. I don't want anyone to implicate you in this. You need an alibi, you will be the first one the ministry suspects."

"Wait, you killed her?!" Harry yelled.

"Yell that a little louder, would you?" Emily glared at him.

"Why would you do that?" Harry asked.

"Because she's a horrible person and the world is a better place for it," Emily said.

"You're not the judge of that!" Harry hissed.

"Well no one else seems to want the job," Emily said. "Anyway, I figured you'd be happy with this. Given that she's a totally incompetent and useless teacher."

"That doesn't mean that she should die," Harry frowned and it occurred to him that he was defending Professor Umbridge. He did, however, manage to resist the urge to vomit into his mouth.

"She also watched Slytherin students torture and attempt to murder you before she remembered that healers can tell if a body was stunned or coherent when magic hit it," Emily said. "That was pretty much the tipping point."

"How can you possibly know that?" Harry asked.

"It's like you forget I have a mole in the school," Emily said. Harry frowned and stared at her for a moment, shaking his head. How could Professor Snape have gotten that information to her? Or even known that information? Did he see far more than he let on or did he simply believe everything they said?

"Snape told you what happened to me?" he asked.

"Of course," Emily lied. "He tells me everything that goes on at the castle that may be of interest to me. A handful of students being casually beaten into submission is certainly something of interest. And then having a professor watch as a group tortures a student. That is another interesting event."

"So, you came and attacked Umbridge because of what she did to me?" Harry asked.

"Among other things. It was, as they say, her third strike," Emily said.

"What were the other two?" Harry asked.

"Using a blood quill on students is a heinous enough crime as is. I am honestly shocked that her method of detention did not leak in some way. I wonder how many letters to the editor the Prophet had to suppress. I cannot imagine that news of that didn't slip out somehow," Emily explained.

"And?" Harry asked.

"And she sent the dementors after you over the summer," Emily said.

"What?" Harry gasped.

"Lucius actually found the order. It will be revealed in the paper tomorrow morning. Which will lend credence to her shameful suicide. And probably call into question Fudge's capabilities as Minister given his educational appointment turned out to be a sadistic madwoman," Emily said.

"So, Dumbledore will get to return?" Harry asked, sounding rather hopeful. Emily made a face at the mention of Dumbledore but her expression quickly composed itself.

"I would doubt it," she responded. "He would simply have to answer questions as to why he allowed for that as well. As Dumbledore was not very vocal in his fight against the ministry when they appointed her."

"Well what's he doing then?" Harry asked.

"I could only guess. But I have a hunch he's searching for some of my possessions," Emily said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because he wants them, one would assume," Emily said. Harry immediately got the feeling she wasn't going to talk any more of that. He could feel her impatience with him in that moment. She was too polite to just turn and leave, but she no longer wanted to be there. He frowned and kept staring at her, a thousand questions rushing through him.

"Still," he said, steering the conversation back to where it was before. "All of those things were strikes perpetrated against me. It seems like you did that for me."

"I had my own reasons, Harry. She hindered my Phe—She hindered my plans quite a bit and she needed to pay for that. It just took some time to find a suitable solution and time to enact said solution," Emily said. "But you should really head back to your common room and I should really be going."

"Take me with you, Em," he blurted out. The words slipped from him before he even knew he said them. He stared at her, his mind racing with the implication of what he'd just said. He wondered if she'd laugh, scoff at him, or tell him he was an idiot. He hoped she'd give him that long, hard stare of hers and then sigh in that annoyed way she did before shrugging her shoulders and saying 'fine'.

She didn't do any of those things. Instead her eyes narrowed and her expression darkened considerably.

"My name is Emily," she said sternly. "If you do not like it, you can call me Lord Voldemort."

"I…uhm…sorry…Emily," Harry muttered. He couldn't help but look away from her as he felt the flush rise up to his face.

"And you traveling with me would not help the suicide narrative. It would be quite suspicious if you were to vanish after she admitted to torturing you in her suicide note," Emily said.

"She did what?" Harry blinked.

"You will find out in the morning," Emily said.

"Everyone will think I did it anyway," Harry said.

"Maybe. But if you hurry back you have an alibi in place coming from the most respected professor at the school as long as you make it back to your dormitory in a timely manner. I highly suggest that if it comes up you say you had to wait on a staircase to move back or avoid Peeves rather than mentioning this meeting," Emily said.

"It's not like they'd believe me," Harry said.

"They might," Emily shrugged. "It might be enough to sway them toward my return rather than admitting their incompetence."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Emily said. "But I need to be going, Harry."

"When will I see you again?" he asked, blushing more at the words.

"I suspect the next time you look into my diary," she said with a slight smirk before pulling her hood back up and slipping from the great hall.

Harry paused and wondered why he was letting her leave. There was so much he could have done, so many things he could have changed, by getting other people to realize she was alive. But he let her go instead.

Deep down he knew he should have told someone about Umbridge. A sinking feeling filled him when he thought of it. But he also knew that if he told anyone that would simply cast suspicion on him.

So instead of doing the right thing, he did exactly what he was told. The thought bothered him. But that didn't prevent him from pushing those thoughts from his head and returning to Gryffindor tower.

He entered just moments before it would be considered after hours. The common room was still rather crowded. Harry scanned it for his friends. Ron was half asleep in an armchair, the remnants of what looked like a transfiguration assignment resting on his lap and a quill slowly slipping from his fingers.

Harry didn't see Hermione anywhere, but that didn't surprise him. She'd been going to bed earlier than usual in the last couple of weeks. He spent a few moments answering questions from younger students on if he'd restart Dumbledore's Army in the coming weeks.

He hadn't really thought about doing so since they'd been discovered by Umbridge. But he suddenly realized that if Emily hadn't been lying to him, Umbridge wasn't around to stop him.

He'd give it a few days, he figured, see what the mood was, and then try to set up another meeting. After that he'd just see who showed up.

He saw Fred and George testing some of their products in the corner of the room. They'd grown a bit more ambitious with their products in the wake of Hermione's incident. Harry frowned at them. He knew he should probably scold him but instead he just joined them in testing their products.

They tested things for an hour or so. Harry found himself all manners of ill in that time, but thankfully they always managed to fix whatever issues their candies caused. It turned out to be rather fun, with most of the common room joining in before Harry excused himself to bed.

When he rejoined Emily that night her pattern didn't change. She continued her spree of wanton murder of people she disapproved of. Harry expected that there were likely articles in the muggle paper about a serial killer. But he wasn't going to go back and look.

He kept watching regardless despite the fact that he wasn't really sure he wanted to keep it up. Eventually, as she stepped toward another of those meetings of old purebloods he left the diary and drifted off to sleep.

The next day brought chaos at Hogwarts. Harry found himself quite tense at breakfast. No one else seemed to pay any real attention to Umbridge's absence. After breakfast he walked slowly to Transfiguration.

He was only partially paying attention to McGonagall's lecture when Professor Flitwick burst into the room. Professor McGonagall looked rather annoyed at the intrusion but it only took her a moment to seem to realize something was completely and utterly wrong.

"What do you think that's about?" Ron asked as the two professors stepped into the hallway to talk.

"No idea. Probably nothing good judging from the look on Flitwick's face," Harry said. He looked over at Hermione and frowned as he saw she was just staring down at the textbook. Ron was gazing over toward the doorway. Harry reached out under the table and took Hermione's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Hermione practically jumped out from her seat but after a deep breath she relaxed and held onto his hand. Moments later McGonagall stepped back into the room.

"Class is dismissed. Head back to Gryffindor tower immediately," McGonagall said.

"What?" Ron blinked. Harry figured that would have been his immediate reaction too if he wasn't at least acutely aware of what the reasoning for the dismissal was. It was fairly hard to imagine anything that could force McGonagall to let them go early.

"Why?" Lavender Brown asked.

"You will be informed in due time," McGonagall said. "For now, you are dismissed."

"Yes professor," Dean Thomas said as the Gryffindors left transfiguration. Harry lagged behind, waiting for Hermione to pack up her books. Ron, Dean and Seamus left almost instantly, as if they were concerned their head of house would change her mind. As he finished packing his own books, McGonagall spoke again.

"Wait a moment, Mister Potter," she said. He and Hermione froze. Harry turned to back to McGonagall. "You can leave, Miss Granger." Hermione hesitated but did step outside of the class room.

"Yes Professor?" Harry asked.

"After you left my office last night what did you do?" she asked.

"I went back to the common room," Harry said. He frowned and hoped that didn't make him seem guilty. Except, he thought, that was stupid. While he knew what happened, he wasn't involved at all in it. He wasn't guilty of it.

"And can anyone corroborate that?" she asked. Harry blinked at her.

"Well I mean I helped Colin with his charms homework and then did some stuff with Fred and George," Harry said. "Why?"

"Let me see your hands," she said, stepping up to him.

"Why?" Harry asked again. But he didn't disobey her. He held his hands up, there was nothing in them. She reached out and took both of them in her own and turned them over slowly. Eventually, she ran her thumb over the scarring from Umbridge's blood quill.

"Why did you not inform anyone of this?" she asked.

"I was told to stay out of her way," Harry said. McGonagall winced as she'd been one of the many who had told him that. "And it seemed easier to just do the detentions and be done with it. I haven't had one in months. Since after the quidditch fiasco,"

"Do you know if she did this to anyone else?" McGonagall asked.

"Lee Jordan had similar scars about a month ago. I suggested dittany to him to make them hurt less," Harry said. McGonagall nodded and waved her wand. A slip of paper appeared and she handed it to him.

"Thank you, Mister Potter. Head back to the common room now and tell mister Jordan that I would like to see him. Give him that pass so no one gives him trouble in the halls. In fact, have Mister Weasley escort him. The prefects will be on hallway duty I suspect."

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "Can I help with anything?"

"The best thing you can do right now is stay out of sight," she said. "Go back to the common room."

"Okay, Professor," Harry said. He stepped out into the hallway. Hermione was waiting for him, leaning against a nearby wall. She didn't say anything as she stepped into line next to him. They walked back to the common room in silence.

Harry found Ron and sent him and Hermione off to find Lee Jordan and then off to join the other prefects and rejoin McGonagall. Harry sat in the common room and waited. He wanted to go up to his room to bury himself in Emily's memories. But he knew at some point that someone would come and question him. So, he stayed out of the dormitory.

Instead he did the rest of his homework. A few house elves showed up around lunch time with a spread of food and the Gryffindors devoured it all, still wondering exactly what had happened that forced them to be sequestered into the tower.

The seventh year prefects returned just before dinner time and escorted the entire class down to the great hall where Minister Fudge stood next to Percy Weasley and a couple of Aurors that Harry only recognized by the department badges on their robes. Harry barely listened as the Minister of Magic explained, to much gasping and general confusion from the students, that Dolores Umbridge was dead.

It took him a few moments to explain her suicide. He encouraged any students who were forced to suffer physical torture at her hands to come forth to their head of house in the coming days.

After that he announced that Percy Weasley would be stepping in, in an interim capacity, to the recently vacated professorship and High Inquisitor role until the ministry could assess the situation accurately.

"Seriously?" Ron sighed at Percy's introduction.

"Well he's less likely to give a speech about it, I think," Harry said.

"You don't know Percy that well," Ron frowned.

"Maybe he'll actually teach something?" Harry amended.

"Maybe," Ron sighed. "But I doubt it. I overheard them talking earlier. They don't think it was a suicide. But they still couldn't find anything that indicated it wasn't."

"She doesn't strike me as the type to kill herself," Harry said. "But at the same time, who in the castle would have actually killed a professor?"

"They think you did," Ron said.

"Nope, not me," Harry said. "But for some reason that doesn't shock me."

"Didn't shock me either," Ron said. "I overheard something else, too."

"Did you do any patrolling, brother, or did you just eavesdrop outside their meeting?" George asked

"If you didn't want me to eavesdrop you wouldn't have invented extendable ears," Ron retorted.

"A valid point," Fred nodded.

"And here we thought you were thinking of toeing the straight and narrow. Just for that we'll give you a freebie from the next batch," George added.

"What were they saying?" Harry asked.

"Fudge wants Percy to get something from you," Ron said. "They weren't being specific. But it was like you had something that the ministry wanted and he wanted Percy to try to get it from you."

"Weird," Harry said.

"I thought so too," Ron said. "I thought maybe the invisibility cloak, but does Fudge even know you have that?"

"No idea," Harry said. "That's news to me."

"It was weird," Ron said. "They were implying that you would have to give it to them or get it for them or something. I suspect Percy will be unbearable. He was never very subtle."

"Well I look forward to that," Harry sighed as he speared some chicken onto his plate.

"The easiest way to deal with Percy was always just agree to whatever he was saying and then get out of wherever he is," Ron said. "If that helps at all."

"It might," Harry said.

"Still, hopefully he'll have us do something more than read that stupid text book," Dean Thomas said from across the table.

"I doubt he will. I'm sure the ministry decided the curriculum. I imagine the lessons will be just as boring," Harry said

"I hope not, that would just be awful," Ron said. They continued to complain about the fact that there was simply a new ministry appointed defense teacher, completely forgetting the grave situation that led to it, for the rest of the evening.

Harry found himself rather confused that no one from the ministry approached him about Umbridge. But, then again, maybe he was being arrogant to assume he was that important to their cause. He figured it was best to not dwell on it one way or another and instead decided to simply go to bed.

He rejoined Emily at one of the supremist meetings, as he'd taken to calling them. He watched a rather well dressed old man stand at a podium and pontificate in a way that reminded him rather annoyingly of Umbridge.

They walked in late. Emily slid on to a bench at the back and started watching. She looked rather bored by the proceedings. Harry watched as she took out her wand and started to file her nails with magic, examining them every couple of moments until she had them how she liked them. After that, she wiggled her fingers and the polish on her nails changed. She settled on a dark green before turning her attention back to the podium.

The man standing there lectured on about how muggle born people were taking control of the ministry, and how their way of life was being threatened. Emily rolled her eyes at a few of the statements as others nodded and cheered.

Harry stepped away from Emily and wandered around the room. He paced between the seats to try to see if he could recognize anyone. A lot of them all looked vaguely familiar and it didn't take him very long to figure out just who's grandparents everyone was. Although the man lecturing didn't remind him much of anyone.

Something felt off for a moment. He looked around trying to figure it out, but nothing came to him. He felt warmer, he thought. And for a moment like it was harder to move. Like something was pinning him down. Like he was trapped.

His eyes flashed around the memory, looking for something that could be holding him there, looking for anything that could be the cause of what he was now feeling. He wondered to himself if this was all just some sort of elaborate trap that had finally been sprung on him.

But that didn't make sense. Why would she have waited until this point, after countless hours buried in the diary, for something malicious to happen to him? That just didn't sound right. It had to be something else. But what could it be?

He gave up. He knew it couldn't be something in the memory. He knew it had to be something outside of the memory. So, he started to prepare himself to leave. He turned back toward where Emily was seated and then laughed.

Hermione Granger stood next to Emily. She was looking around, looking very confused at the entire scene before her. To Harry's surprise, she was wearing a short nightgown and looked rather sheepishly at him.

"Hello, Hermione," he said, stepping up toward her.

"Hi," she said quietly. She blushed and looked away from him.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"You said if I snuck in and joined you I could watch the memories," Hermione said. She crossed her arms over her chest as if trying to cover herself. Harry didn't have the heart to tell her that her pajamas showed more leg than anything else. He wondered if she simply hadn't thought about what memory her would be wearing. Or if she hadn't realized she'd have an avatar inside the diary.

"I did say that," Harry said. He stepped toward her and then stood next to her, doing his best to not make her think he was staring at her. Then again, he was only wearing a shirt and boxers. But he guessed it was different for a girl.

"So, I snuck in with your cloak," Hermione said. "And you were just there looking dazed staring at the open book. I didn't know if shaking you would get your attention or anything like that. Instead I closed the curtains, crawled in, pulled the covers up, and joined you."

"I see that," Harry said. "That must explain why it seemed to get warmer in here for a moment right before I noticed you."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah it seems normal now," he said. "But for a moment I felt sort of trapped."

"I can go out and move," she blushed and looked away from him.

"It's fine," Harry said.

"Is that Draco's grandfather?" Hermione asked, pointing at the man she'd just faced while looking away from him. Harry looked at an aged man with white-blonde hair.

"Probably," Harry said.

"What is this?" she asked, looking around. "That looks like a younger version of the person of Sirius's mom."

"A magical supremist meeting, I guess. Purebloods that do a lot of whining about everyone else. It probably is Sirius's mother," Harry said.

"Why are we watching it?" she asked.

"Because she's here," Harry said, gesturing to Emily. Hermione looked over toward her and it all clicked.

"Oh," she gasped. Then frowned at the young woman not paying attention to the speaker.

"She looks bored. What is she doing here?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"Does she come to these things often?" Hermione asked, gazing up at the podium where the same man was still preaching.

"Since her husband died," Harry said.

"How'd that happen?" Hermione asked.

"Shot," Harry said as Emily rose from her bench.

"Enough," she said, stepping toward the podium. Her voice resonated with more power than Harry would have expected. He knew she had to be amplifying it with magic. But, he didn't know how she could be doing that.

"Excuse me, miss," the speaker said. Emily held up her left hand and made a swatting motion with her wrist. The man flew away from the podium and impacted on the wall.

"Woah," Hermione said.

"Listen to you all. It's pathetic. Every week you gather, you feast, you drink, and you whine. And what does it accomplish?" she asked. A few men rushed toward where the man had impacted on the wall. Most, though, just stood and stared at Emily. More than half of them drawing their wands.

"Emily," Burke said quietly, attempting to move through the crowd toward her.

"Nothing," she said. "You accomplish nothing. You promote the same stagnation that has plagued you since before Victoria. You're living in the wrong century. You are content to complain. But can't be bothered to better your world."

"I don't know who you think you are," a Malfoy said. Harry could identify him easily enough by the long platinum blonde hair and the sneering expression. Emily waved her hand at him and speech stopped. He started gagging, and then coughing up blood, before she waved her hand again and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

"It's time you learned your lesson," Emily said quietly, surveying the entire room. "It's time that you understand. The only one worth relying on is yourself. Your gatherings accomplish nothing. They don't even further your own naive agendas."

"Call the Aurors," the woman who could have only been Sirius's mother said. Emily raised her eyebrows.

"You don't even listen to your own rhetoric. The ministry is corrupt. The ministry is filled with mudbloods and problems. The ministry needs drastic change. That man was just speaking about that. Yet at the first sign of a problem, you call for their aid. They couldn't help you anyway," Emily said.

"Enough with this," a gruff man that reminded Harry of Gregory Goyle said. "Let's shut her up." There were murmurings of agreement and flashes of light. Spells fired in every direction toward Emily and the podium. Harry couldn't even identify the number of curses directed toward her. Still, the whole affair was over before it really began.

"What just happened?" Hermione gasped as she looked around the room. No one was standing. Emily was sitting on the podium, her legs crossed, looking completely unfussed by the entire situation. She was looking down at her nails, her wand nowhere to be seen.

Everyone else was in a varying degree of broken and strewn across the room. They were moaning, grabbing at limbs, gasping for air. Harry was convinced at least three of them were dead.

"Long version or the short version?" Harry asked.

"Long version," Hermione said. She stepped toward a few of the bodies and examined them carefully. Harry could tell she was getting used to the ghost feeling of it all. It had taken him a few times too, to understand fully that they couldn't see them.

"Well she stepped toward the podium as they started to curse her. The big one that looks like Goyle, she broke his wrists with a quick bit of casting and then used his body to shield the blasting curse from the small one that looks like Nott. Sirius's mom tried to cast some type of jelly legs curse I think, she just reflected it back. After that she used the killing curse on tho-"

"Short version," Hermione interrupted.

"She won," Harry said.

"Against all of them, that quickly?" Hermione asked.

"Time is a little funky in here. But yes," Harry said.

"How?" Hermione laughed.

"I was trying to explain that and you decided you wanted the short version," Harry said. Hermione walked back over to him just so she could swat him.

"Look at you all," Emily laughed, her dimple on prime display. "Incapable of doing anything much more than grovel before me. A dirty half-blood."

"What?" Hermione laughed.

"Her dad was a muggle," Harry said.

"But why would she admit that?" Hermione asked.

"Don't know," Harry said.

"Entirely at my mercy," she laughed. "How that must gall you. But it's no matter. It, like your other inane ideas, can be fixed easily enough."

"She couldn't possibly," Hermione gasped as Emily opened her arms. The room seemed to warm for a moment and then the noise of injured people faded away. It still took them a couple of moments to orient themselves as they sat on the floor and looked up at her on the podium.

"Challenge accepted," Harry laughed.

"That's," Hermione gasped, at a loss for any further dialogue.

"Incredible," Harry agreed.

"Now are we going to listen or do we need more of a demonstration?" Emily asked. Two men got shakily to their feet and ran to the door. She knocked them over with a wave of her hand.

"What do you want?" the Malfoy said.

"I want you to start acting on what you preach about," Emily said. "Except I don't care about the dirtiness of blood, as you have come to describe it. Our society has the power to better the world, to change the world, but instead we hide behind a façade and cower in meetings like this."

"We are not cowering," Sirius's mom scoffed.

"Yes, you are," Emily said. "You're cowering from me right now. And you're cowering from the muggle filth you claim to hate. You're afraid."

"We are not," a man Harry didn't recognize said.

"Yes, we are," another added. "We hide from them every chance we get."

"And we grow stagnant," Emily said. "They have created weapons that could destroy every last one of us, and we have done nothing about it. Every day they advance to levels we can barely comprehend. A hundred years ago it took them days to traverse this country. Now they can travel around the world in hours."

"I was always fascinated by how much technology developed during the Victorian Era," Hermione said. "I can only imagine what Wizards thought of the advent of the car and shooting rockets into space and-"

"Trying to listen, Hermione," Harry laughed.

"Sorry," she blushed.

"They've put objects into space. Objects that float around the planet and take pictures of things from the sky. Objects that can scan cities, and for all we know will be able to identify us. There's even talk of going to the moon. Of putting people there. Of building a civilization there," Emily continued.

"That's impossible," a man laughed.

"A hundred years ago the atomic bomb was an impossible idea. If it was even an idea at all," Emily said. "They are advancing at rates we can hardly imagine. If we let them continue to do so, they will discover us on their own. And they will destroy us."

"So, what would you do about it," someone said from the crowd.

"Magic is superior, but only if we make it so. We must fight to save ourselves. We cannot allow them to overtake us. We must unite on a platform. Your old prejudices are pointless. Magic must be brought to the forefront," Emily said. "And we must use that to control them."

"Control them?" the Malfoy asked.

"Yes. Control them. We must infiltrate them and use their own systems to rein them in. The vile and the corrupt should be removed by any means necessary. We must better the world to save ourselves from them, or they will wipe us out," Emily said.

"That's not the talking points I'd expect from a Pureblood supremist," Hermione said.

"She's a halfblood," Harry said.

"Still, she's wrong. Muggles haven't harmed wizards in ages," Hermione said.

"Maybe," Harry shrugged.

"Oh, don't tell me you believe her," Hermione laughed.

"I don't know what I believe," Harry said. Hermione turned her gaze away from Emily and just stared at him for a few moments, her brows furrowed.

"What has she done to you?" Hermione asked. "What has she shown you that has you actually taking her side." Harry didn't comment.

"So why are you here?" a man asked.

"Because I can't do it alone," Emily said. "It's time for you to make a decision. I've already proven I'm stronger than you. And I'm half of the thing you hate most. You know that magical blood, in any form, is superior. Do you want to strive for a better world, one where we can live freely and without worry? I do. I made a promise that I would make this world better. And I am going to do it. The way we do it is by removing those who are content with the status-quo. So, it's up to you all. Will you follow me?"

"You are proposing a world where we control the muggles? Where we aren't forced to hide in small sections of cities or worry about a government hounding us for any tiny mistake? Where I won't have to worry about my infant son accidentally transfiguring a muggle boy that harasses him?" one man said.

"Yes," Emily responded. "A world where magic reigns supreme. A world where we use magic to better everyone. And a world where those with magic are treated with the respect that they deserve."

"I'm with you," the man agreed readily. He was a young man, probably just a few years older than her. A woman hissed at him from the crowd but he didn't face her.

"Your name?" she asked.

"Ignatius Avery," he responded.

"Welcome Avery," Emily said. And then she smiled at him. Avery blushed as she did, her dimple on prominent display. Harry watched as the mood in the room changed purely because of one defector.

They all slowly migrated toward her. They all joined her. There was a brief moment when a few seemed to oppose her as they noticed that three of their compatriots were dead. She scoffed at their annoyance and explained their crimes.

Some concerned murmuring accompanied her explanation of behavior that would not be tolerated.

"What happened to her?" Hermione asked as Emily addressed the crowd.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Whatever it was happened before the diary starts. If I had to guess I'd say some pretty severe childhood abuse,"

"That's awful," Hermione frowned. Harry looked over at her and saw her distant, confused expression as she contemplated something in her own thoughts.

"Feeling bad for Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"I guess not. But still, no one should have to go through that," Hermione said.

"I had to go through that," Harry responded. "I don't know if it was the same but I spent the first eleven years of my life locked in a tiny closet and was beaten for doing anything wrong. Or when they were bored."

"I know. And it's still wrong. And I'm sorry that you had to suffer that. And I'm sorry that she had to suffer that," Hermione said.

"Does it excuse killing multiple people here? And the plenty more she's killed over the years too?" Harry asked. He wasn't sure what he expected the answer to be. But she'd asked him what he'd seen. And if that changed his views. And in the end, it saddened him that the best response he could come up with was merely three words: I don't know.

"No, Hermione responded. "But that doesn't mean it isn't awful."

"True," Harry said.

"Now that we've gotten that out of the way," Emily said. "It's time we discuss our first steps toward our goal."

"What do we do?" a man who identified himself as a Rookwood asked.

"We sit and we discuss our agenda," Emily said, she waved her hand over the room, the many smaller tables merged into one and she moved to stand at the head of it. "And when we have hammered that out, we will enact it. Now come, let us begin."

"This is not what I imagined the first Death Eater meeting to be like," Harry said as the discussions commenced. They talked about everything. Political issues that Harry wouldn't have even thought were issues they would discuss.

"Me either, but she does need to win them over," Hermione said. "And she's doing that. Look at the men they can't keep their eyes off of her. She has them hanging on her every word already."

"I guess," Harry said. He frowned as his eyes traced over the enraptured men. The discussions flashed by but they did eventually settle into agreement.

"Good," Emily smiled brightly, her dimple flashing, as they squared away the last issue.

"Excuse me, my Lady," Avery said as they finished. Her expression darkened at the pronoun. "But what do we do now?"

"Now we pursue our goals," Emily said. "Many of you are in positions of power within the government. You will push these agendas forward. If you meet any resistance you will inform me and I will deal with the problem. We will infiltrate, we will spread our ideals, and we will spread our vision across this country."

"Yes, mistress," Rookwood said. Again, Emily's eyes flashed over toward him, annoyance clear on her face. Most of the people present didn't notice, they were too busy slapping the table in approval at her words.

"No," Emily said as they quieted down.

"No what?" Avery asked.

"I am not your Lady. I am not your Mistress. You already have those in spades. And every one of you thinks of both of those as sexual objects," Emily said.

"That is not true," a Crabbe stated.

"It is," Emily countered. She slid her hand up to her hair and plucked her wand from it. "I can see into your minds easily enough. Too easily, you're all rather loud. And no, Black, I will not ever do that to you and if you think it again I will remove the appendage you're picturing and have you do it to yourself."

"She can't possibly be in all of their heads," Hermione said.

"I've come to just believe her when she says things," Harry said. "I mean she may be bluffing, but, why take the risk?"

"My La-" Black said as his wife smacked his shoulder.

"Crucio," Emily said, leveling her wand on the man. He shrieked and collapsed out of his chair. Emily removed the spell from him and he rose to his feet, his face flushed with anger.

"How dare-" he started.

"Save your blustering. You know you'd lose," Emily said.

"If you are not our Lady," Avery interrupted. Harry noticed he'd taken the seat at her right hand. She didn't take her eyes off of Black as he spoke.

"If you must be formal then I am your Lord," Emily said. "I am your master now. I can be benevolent. We agree on what will make this world better. And I will be the one to facilitate that change. But make no mistake. I will never belong to any of you."

"Yes, My Lord," Avery nodded.

"Good," Emily said.

"I'm tired," Hermione yawned from his side. "How do we exit the book?"

"Just close your eyes and think that you'd like to leave. It will take you right out," Harry said. Hermione nodded and closed her eyes. Harry debated staying in and watching the remainder of the meeting. But something told him it would be for the best if he saved that for another day. So, he closed his eyes as well and let the feeling of his bed beneath him return.

He came back to Hermione laying with her head next to his on the pillow. She was looking rather sheepishly down at herself. Harry figured it was probably best to not leer too much at her in that moment.

Harry closed the diary and leaned over toward his bedside table, pulling back the curtains just enough to place the book on the table and glance around. All of the other boys had the curtains closed as well and there was no noise coming from the room. He placed his lion-dog on top of the book and activated it.

"Is that a Komainu?" Hermione gasped. Harry winced at the noise and quickly grabbed his wand from the table cast a quick silencing charm before pushing the curtains closed.

"And you're the one who was worried about getting caught in bed?" Harry teased as wormed his way under the covers. Hermione looked away from him, her face flushing a deep crimson.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"It's fine," Harry said. "And yes, it is."

"Where in the world did you get that?"

"Emily gave it to me for Christmas," Harry said.

"What?" Hermione hissed.

"While we were in Chicago," Harry said.

"And you use it? She could be using it to spy on you or something," Hermione said.

"I don't think she is," Harry shrugged, growing slightly annoyed that he had stopped watching the diary to be lectured about Emily.

"But you can't know that," Hermione gasped.

"I can't. You're right. But the thing tried to attack her whenever it was on and she was around," Harry said.

"That should just be an alarm itself," Hermione frowned.

"Probably," Harry said. "But either way the thing is damn useful. I should have probably tried using it in the Room of Requirement as added security but it never really occurred to me."

"I don't know if that would have helped," Hermione frowned. "To be able to guard whole rooms like that they need to be much bigger."

"That's what she said," Harry nodded.

"What was it like to actually live with her?" Hermione asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, like, what did you do? She's a murderer Harry. I can't imagine that being forced into a building with her would be anything short of terrifying."

"The hang-over cure she brewed was pretty terrifying," Harry said.

"You have to be joking," Hermione frowned.

"No, we got pretty drunk for the New Year," Harry said.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "You're fifteen!"

"Yeah, well, it was still a good time," Harry said.

"That sounds so wrong. How can you have a good time with Lord Voldemort? She hates you! She tried to kill you," Hermione said.

"Well she didn't try to kill me at all in Chicago," Harry said.

"So, what did you do on a daily basis then?" she asked.

"Well we took turns making breakfast. Then we'd wander around the city or something. We did a few of the museums and a little bit of shopping," Harry said.

"You are wearing nicer shirts sometimes now," Hermione said, mostly to herself, as if solving a mystery that had been rattling around in her head.

"Thanks to Narcissa Malfoy's line of credit," Harry laughed, finding that thought far more amusing than he had when Emily had forced him to the store.

"Really?" Hermione giggled. "You should thank her for that."

"Probably," Harry said. "Maybe right after I apologize for crippling their son."

"Right," Hermione frowned. "That would put a damper on things."

"Pomfrey told me he should recover," Harry said.

"You sound almost disappointed," Hermione responded.

"I guess a little," Harry sighed.

"That's awful," Hermione frowned.

"Yes," Harry said. "But you know Draco. Once he's back he'll just be more of a cock and try to get even regardless. It'll be a hassle."

"Maybe," Hermione said.

"And I guess he does just really irritate me," Harry admitted. Hermione was quiet for a moment. Harry had expected her to rebuke him, but she didn't. Instead, when she spoke, she changed the subject again.

"Well then, when you weren't shopping or getting irresponsibly drunk with your mortal enemy, what were you doing?" she asked.

"She taught me how to duel," Harry admitted.

"Really?" Hermione seemed surprised by that. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him.

"Yes," Harry admitted. "We spent a lot of time on that. She won dueling titles while at Hogwarts. Competed in tournaments and everything."

"Good for her," Hermione frowned. "Dumbledore did away with those in the fifties. He thought they just fostered violence."

"I wondered why I never saw anything about them," Harry admitted.

"What was it like?" she asked, referring back to the dueling.

"It hurt," Harry admitted. "She's a big believer in showing and not telling. Mostly she kept me on my toes and made me adapt to new spells over and over. It actually really hurt like hell."

"That sounds evil," Hermione said. "See she was hurting you."

"I mean I guess," Harry said. "But she'd heal wounds and make pain potions after. And she'd show me how to do things like that too. I thought it was effective. I feel like I learned how to adapt much faster by being forced to. I don't know if it really helped though. It's not like dueling would help out in a real fight."

"Are you serious?" Hermione giggled. Actually giggled. Harry stared at her looking rather confused.

"What?" he asked.

"You took out like a dozen people in seconds," Hermione said. "While Ron and I barely even managed to get a spell off. And you think it didn't help?"

"I hadn't really thought about it like that," Harry admitted.

"What did you think happened? She asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "It just seemed so slow when it happened. It was almost like they wanted me to curse them. I guess I just thought they weren't really good."

"Well they hadn't had a couple weeks of apparently intensive training," Hermione said. "Because I felt the same way but on the receiving end."

"I guess," Harry said.

"And I heard what you did," Hermione continued. "And you were using spells that they certainly don't teach here."

"They just sort of came to me," Harry shrugged. "But here I thought you said you were tired. We could still be watching the past but someone wanted to sleep."

"It's confusing where it's at," Hermione frowned. "I feel like I don't have any idea what's going on or what anyone's motivations are."

"Then tomorrow we can go back and watch from the beginning. Unless you wanted to right now?" Harry asked.

"I am actually kind of tired," Hermione said with a pouty frown.

"Alright then, another time and we'll take you back to the idyllic war-torn Britain," Harry said.

"That sentence is an oxymoron," Hermione responded.

"Oh, quiet you," Harry countered. Hermione just rolled her eyes at him. She sat up on his bed, sitting near his waist and staring down at him. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment or two before she finally worked up the courage to speak up.

"Do I have to leave?" she asked. Harry just stared at her. He could tell she was blushing. And she looked like the thought of making eye contact with him at that moment was the scariest thing she could possibly imagine. Harry paused for a moment and then just threw the covers back on one side of the bed.

"Not if you don't want to," Harry said. "But you were the one worried about getting caught and how they would gossip."

"You boys all sleep in on weekends anyway," Hermione said. She took another deep breath. Harry suspected she was trying to calm her own nerves as she did. He just kept his eyes on hers, thinking that the last thing she needed was to feel anything but perfectly safe.

"Well I used to get up for Quidditch, but, you know," Harry said. "Ron still does but he's like a damn zombie."

"Yes, he is not good in the morning, is he?" Hermione asked. But Harry knew she wasn't looking for an answer. Instead she slipped under his covers and cozied up next to him. She was incredibly soft and warm. Harry put one arm loosely around her waist.

"Cozy?" he asked. He could already tell her eyes were going a little bleary. He'd thought, since the incident, that she hadn't really been sleeping well. He'd heard Lavender talking about it to Ginny and Dean too. That she'd always still been awake when Lavender had gone to bed. Although she'd try to make it seem like she wasn't.

"Yes," she whispered. She shifted to press her lips innocently to his cheek before whispering. "Thank you, Harry."

"Any time," he whispered back. She was asleep within moments. Harry had a harder time laying with her mostly on top of him. But after staring at the roof of his bed for long enough he did eventually manage to drift off.


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Rpeh on the beta work.

Chapter 26

"Wake up, Harry," Hermione said. While it was the first time Harry heard her, and noticed she was pushing on his shoulder, he felt it was safe to assume that it wasn't the first time she'd done either of those things.

"What?" Harry yawned as he opened his eyes. She was freshly showered wearing her typical weekend outfit of jeans and a jumper, her hair pulled back into a pony tail.

"It's like nine thirty. Time to get up," Hermione said giddily. Her eyes seemed more alive than Harry remembered them in recent weeks. He propped himself up on his pillow and stifled another awn.

"Nine thirty? On a Saturday? Where I don't have to play quidditch? That's disgusting," Harry said as he stretched his arms over his head.

"Well Ron's at quidditch, Neville went down to the greenhouses earlier, and Dean and Seamus just went to breakfast," Hermione said.

"So, you decided to come back to bed. Nice," Harry said, opening his arms to her.

"You're a prat," Hermione said.

"Please?" Harry asked, trying to sound as playful as possible. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Fine," she sighed and slid next to him, leaning against the headboard.

"Wait, Neville went to the greenhouses on a Saturday?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. "He invited me. Wanted to get a head start on his herbology homework."

"Gross," Harry said.

"Not everyone hates plants," Hermione commented.

"Does he invite you to morning plant sessions often?" Harry asked.

"Pretty much weekly," Hermione said. "You were usually at quidditch and Ron would sleep in and now Ron is at quidditch and you sleep in. It was a good way to get a head start on whatever were doing in class that week."

"But you'd rather hang out in bed with me than go on your weekend date?" Harry teased.

"It's not a date." Hermione turned rather pink. "We just review the homework and look into the upcoming class work."

"Uh-huh," Harry said, trying to sound as disbelieving as possible.

"It's not!" Hermione reiterated.

"And I don't sleep in," Harry said. "I usually wake up around this time anyway. It just took me a while to fall asleep last night."

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said with a small frown. She looked away from him and Harry could feel her embarrassment as she did so.

"Oh, it wasn't your fault," Harry said. "Just, you know, general stress and what not I guess. It was just one of those nights, you know?"

"I guess," Hermione said. She was still frowning, which caused Harry to frown. He thought, for a moment, that she looked almost disappointed. Like something about her preventing him from sleeping was an appealing thought to her. And that his response was inadequate to the situation. He frowned and let the awkward silence rest for a moment as he tried to think of something else to say.

"You passed out like instantly," Harry said. Hermione blushed more and continued to look away from him. She lifted a hand to play with a strand of hair that had fallen loose before brushing it behind her ear.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately, either," she said meekly.

"I figured," Harry said and decided he needed to shift the topic away from why she wasn't sleeping well. "But, really, I almost never sleep in,"

"You don't come out of your dormitory until lunch, usually," Hermione said. "At least you haven't this year. Well I guess since the quidditch ban at least."

"I guess I don't. Never really been a huge breakfast fan, so didn't see much of a point finding food until lunch," Harry said.

"You've been in the diary until you were too hungry to stay," Hermione added, as if that suddenly just clicked for her as she said it.

"Well, maybe," Harry said. It was his turn to blush although he wasn't sure why admitting to that embarrassed him. By now Hermione and Ron knew what he spent most of his free time doing. Ron hadn't ever really seemed that interested and hadn't dropped in past the one time.

Hermione, on the other hand, had always seemed interested but like she didn't know how to broach the subject of actually getting her hands on the book. Even now, she looked a little sheepish, but Harry suspected that could just be because she was alone in a dormitory with him and they were not hidden behind the curtains of the bed.

"Speaking of," she said.

"This was your ploy?" Harry laughed. He tried his best to feign annoyance at her.

"No," Hermione said quickly.

"Liar," Harry laughed.

"Well you said we could start over in the morning and it's the morning," Hermione said rather quickly. Harry raised his brows at her.

"Well yeah, but you were distracting me with a nightgown then," Harry said. "I'd have agreed to anything at all."

"Harry," Hermione raised her brows and stared at him. He figured that he'd been teasing her enough at this point and decided it was best to stop. Well, at least for now.

"Fine," he sighed, but still couldn't help but smile as he reached out to deactivate his guardian statue and grab the diary. He tossed it into her lap. "Have at it."

"You aren't coming in?" she asked, frowning at him as she spoke.

"Nah, go ahead," he said, stretching his arms above his head as he spoke.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her fingers tracing gently over the cover of the battered diary.

"Yeah. I'm going to grab a shower and get dressed and then probably head down and see if I can snatch some breakfast. After that I'll come back up and join you," Harry said.

"Oh, I see," Hermione said. "That sounds like a good idea. I can come with if you want."

"To the shower?" Harry asked, genuine shock bubbling through his voice.

"What? No!" Hermione shrieked, looking mortified.

"Well that sounded a lot like to the shower," Harry said.

"I meant to breakfast!" she brought her hands to cover her face.

"Seems less fun. Let's do the shower instead," Harry said. Hermione just stared at him with wide eyes, her hands still covering the majority of her face. Eventually Harry composed himself and decided to just wipe the subject away. "Go ahead and get started. I'll be back shortly."

"Do I have to stay here?" she asked quietly.

"Well I'd prefer that you didn't have that in the common room where people could hop in or try to take it. And it would be a bit odd being dazed over in public like at the library or anything. And I can't get into your dormitory," Harry said.

"True," she sighed. "Well I'll probably hide behind the curtains then."

"I can turn on the komainu if you want," he said.

"To trap me here?" she frowned. Harry could tell that she was trying to make a joke out of it, but it fell flat.

"Okay bad idea," he said. She nodded a bit and opened the diary. He figured that was his cue and he slid out of the bed. He closed the curtains for her, grabbed a change of clothing, and headed toward the bathroom off their dormitory.

He lingered for a while in the shower, enjoying the relaxing feeling of the warm water on his skin. But eventually he grew tired of it and stepped out and into the cool bathroom. He dried and dressed quickly before returning to the dormitory.

He peered in on Hermione. She was still leaning against his headboard, but now she was staring blankly at the book and looking rather dazed. Harry wondered just how he managed to get away with that in class but figured it was just a testament to how bad of teachers both Umbridge and Binns were.

Still, he couldn't help but smile at her before exiting the dormitory and making his way down toward the Great Hall. He plopped himself down in a mostly empty portion of the Gryffindor table and speared some eggs and bacon onto his plate.

People mostly left him alone as he ate. He heard some muted whispers but did his best to not pay attention to them. For all he knew, it was just more about what he'd done to the Slytherin students.

Seamus and Dean seemed to notice just what was going on and slid down the table toward him. They started asking questions about the defense homework, and then the charms homework, and then parlayed that into the possibility of restarting Dumbledore's army.

Harry doubted that he would be able to arrange that. But he told them he was going to give Percy Weasley a few weeks of his best behavior, during which time he would decide how best to evade capture when they started it again.

That confidence seemed to amuse Dean and Seamus and their conversation immediately changed to the multitude of ways they could come up with for handling things under the ministry's radar. Harry had to admit he was rather amused by the topic and some of the suggestions that they came up with.

Eventually he rose from the table. Dean and Seamus asked him if he wanted to sneak a broom out to the pitch and play some pickup quidditch, since Umbridge was gone. It actually sounded like a phenomenal idea to Harry, but he figured it would be best to approach the rescinding of his ban more gradually now that Umbridge was gone. The incident after the match, like most everything that Umbridge had enacted, was currently 'in review' according to the papers.

Hopefully, Harry thought, it would be rectified within a couple of weeks. He frowned as he explained that to Seamus and Dean. But, in the end, they agreed that it was probably in his best interest to not push the envelope as of yet. They left the hall and moved to the pitch without him.

Harry waited a few minutes before following them. He assumed he was alone as he walked into the entrance hall and started back toward Gryffindor tower. But he didn't even make it to the first step before he was interrupted.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter," Percy Weasley's prim tones rang from behind him. Harry froze and felt his shoulders tense instantly. He slid his hand into his pocket and ran his fingers over his wand.

"Yes, Percy?" he asked, turning to face Ron's older brother. An Auror that Harry didn't recognize stood behind Percy. He'd heard rumors that Percy had an entourage of sorts with him at the castle, but this was the first he'd really witnessed it.

"Professor Weasley," Percy corrected, and with two words Harry already understood just how this conversation was going to go. Percy stared at him as if he expected Harry to correct himself. But Harry didn't. He didn't speak. Instead he just stared back at Percy, his wand out and in his hand. He wasn't foolish enough to point it as Percy, despite how much he wanted to.

Still, something inside him told him he couldn't just curse his best friend's brother. Nothing good would come from that. Even if the man deserved it.

Wait, deserved it? How could he deserve it? He was just doing his job. There wasn't anything to fault with that.

Except that the SS were just doing their job too.

Why are you arguing with yourself? Nothing good would ever come from that. In fact, it's an early sign of insanity.

"I don't think that's necessary," Percy said, gesturing to Harry's wand as he broke the rather uncomfortable silence. The words were enough to bring Harry back to reality. He looked around the entryway and saw that people were starting to mill around and watch the two of them. Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself before speaking.

"The last time I was alone with ministry officials I ended up in a situation I rather not repeat. So, I think it is entirely necessary," Harry said.

"You critically injured multiple students in a magical duel," Percy spat. "It's only logical that during such a skirmish you would have sustained injuries yourself."

"Yet that's not what the healer's report said, is it?" Harry asked. Percy pressed his lips together, but it was the Auror who spoke.

"No one can win a twelve on one fight without taking some damage," the Auror spat. Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"There's no need to become combative, Mister Hayes," Percy said.

"You'd lose anyway," Harry said.

"Boy," the Auror, Hayes, growled. Harry turned his gaze onto the other man and he could have sworn that the man looked afraid. Harry smirked at him.

"Mister Hayes," Percy snapped.

"Sorry, sir," Hayes responded. The man actually flushed at Percy's annoyance. Harry found it rather amusing but he decided it was probably best to not really press that issue any longer than absolutely necessary.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

"I was hoping you would accompany me to London today. The Minister-"

"No," Harry said.

"What?" Percy looked shocked at his blunt refusal.

"I'm busy today," Harry said. "Loads of homework, you know."

"Mister Potter I must insist that you accompany me," Percy said.

"No," Harry said again.

"I assure you, Mister Potter, I would not ask you to accompany me if it was not of the utmost importance. There are things that you need to understand. That the ministry needs to understand. And it's crucial that we sit down and talk about it," Percy said.

"I am not going to go anywhere with you, Percy," Harry said.

"That is Professor Weasley, Mister Potter," Percy said again, his tone growing harder as he spoke. "I must insist."

"It's not going to happen, Percy," Harry said. "Unless you're going to try to force me. In which case you should have bought more Aurors."

"Harry, be reasonable," Percy said, his face was flushed with anger and Harry noticed he didn't try to correct his title for a third time. "It's just a quick visit to the ministry. There's something that the ministry needs your help retrieving. It will not take long."

"Well if they needed my help so much, then they should have perhaps, you know, not tortured me for a year," Harry said.

"Please Harry," Percy looked rather worried as he pleaded.

"Oh, I get it now," Harry laughed. "You told Fudge that you could do this. That's why you got the job. Not for any teaching interest or capability. No, you figured you could get me to do whatever Fudge wanted because you're Ron's brother."

"Harry," Percy started.

"Maybe you shouldn't have written a letter to Ron about how Umbridge was such a lovely woman. And that I was seriously deranged or whatever you referred to it as. That was probably not the best way to get me to do whatever it is you want me to do," Harry said.

"Harry, please," Percy begged.

"You want something from me," Harry said. "And all you can do is stand there and beg. You better go back to your master and tell him how much of an utter failure you are."

"There are things I could offer you," Percy countered.

"But it wasn't worth it to open with that. I'm too dumb to warrant actual negotiation right at the start. You're really not good at this, are you?" Harry said. Percy glared at him and bumbled his next sentence.

"We could, well, we could, uhm, we could make sure your quidditch ban is lifted," Percy said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"That's going to happen anyway," Harry said. "And probably rather soon as everything Umbridge did goes public. So not your best actual bargaining chip. And it's not really one that matters."

"Umbridge indicated you wanted to become an Auror. We could certainly arrange for-"

"I will make whatever career I decide to pursue by my own merit. And I wouldn't accept your help with it. If I'm good enough, which I am, mind you, then I will be fine. If I'm not good enough, I'll find something else to do," Harry snapped.

"Well I'm sure that…" Percy started.

"I don't care what you're sure about," Harry said. "I have no reason to believe that you are capable of anything that you offer. I know you're a low-level stooge. If someone above you is interested in negotiating and offering something of use then maybe I'll think about it."

"Show some respect, boy," Hayes snapped. Anger flashed through Harry as his attention turned to the Auror.

"If you call me boy again it will be the last word you ever speak," Harry said.

"You little shit," the Auror said.

"Hayes," Percy snapped.

"Let me teach him a lesson," Hayes snapped.

"I'd like to see that," Harry said.

"Hayes!" Percy snapped again. Harry could tell that he was afraid of losing control of the situation. He knew just what Fudge would say if someone else from the Ministry cursed Harry Potter. But he couldn't resist. It was just too much fun to tease them. In his mind he could see the situation slipping away from them, and yet he was entirely in control of it.

"You'd need a new Auror when I was done with him," Harry said.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Hayes snapped.

"You were going to lead with a rather vile blasting hex known for piercing through shield charms. You figured you'd shoot it to my side and then when I tried to slip away from it on instinct you'd come back with something less serious. And you had no third spell planned figuring that those two would have ended the fight," Harry said.

"What?" Hayes looked rather surprised.

"You think loudly," Harry said, Deja-vu echoing through his head as he said them. "It's shocking you'd ever be able to capture a dark wizard when you wear your thoughts on your sleeve."

"Harry," Percy gasped.

"You know, Professor Weasley. I'll tell you what. If you actually prove to be a competent defense teacher, then I'll think about hopping along to the ministry and helping out," Harry said.

"Really?" Percy asked seeming shocked that Harry actually used his title.

"Sure," Harry lied. His mind was more focused on the thoughts shooting through his head. About how he knew just what spells this Hayes was going to use. It sent a shiver through him. He did the only thing he could think of. He turned and made his way back up the stairs. Trying his best to shake the feeling that he'd just been inside someone else's head.

The Creevey brothers tried to follow him back to the common room, chatting about how awesome he was for standing up to the ministry like that. Harry was too lost in thought to really pay attention to them. He didn't know how to do what he just did. He knew he didn't know how to do it. They hadn't really gotten to that point when he was in Chicago. And yet he'd just done it. And the thought was absolutely terrifying.

He was shivering by the time he made it back to his dormitory. The Creevey brothers tried to follow him and he almost let them, at least until he remembered that Hermione was waiting for him on his bed. He made excuses about how he wasn't feeling well which were thankfully good enough for them to head back to the common room.

Harry stepped into the bathroom and spent a few moments just splashing warm water onto his face, trying to fight off the lingering chill inside of him. For a moment he felt utterly wrong.

Eventually he calmed down enough to realize that there wasn't really anything he could do about it. He thought he remembered Emily telling him something about the first time it had happened to her. How out of nowhere she'd been in someone else's head and how utterly wrong that had felt at first, how invasive and disgusting it had seemed. And how that hadn't really gone away until she'd mastered it and come to terms with just what it meant.

But what bothered him even more was that he couldn't remember exactly what he'd thought of that conversation. Or where they'd been when they'd had it, or how he'd responded. It was just up there, in his head, bouncing around in his brain with no context.

He frowned at himself in the mirror, glad it seemed wise enough to keep it's thoughts to itself at that point, before returning to his dormitory. He moved over toward his bed and slipped beneath the curtains where Hermione waited. She was exactly where he'd left her, staring at the diary. He sat next to her on the bed, resting back against the headboard, and then turned his attention to the book as well.

Hermione was frowning in the corner of the barn-turned-garage, looking like she was trying to stay out of sight, when he joined her.

"You know they can't see you, right?" he said as he peered around the scene before him. An amazingly dirty Emily Riddle was tugging on debris in the grill of one of the jeeps while looking thoroughly perturbed.

"I know. It's just instinct I guess," Hermione frowned. Harry nodded. If he was honest he suspected that he'd probably done his fair share of hiding when he first started to explore the diary.

He wandered around Emily and perched himself on the jeep, looking down at her. He was rather surprised by how young she looked compared to the scenes he'd been viewing. It served as a stark reminder that a decade of life had washed over her in the time he'd viewed her memories.

She looked oddly innocent, with her wide dark eyes darting everywhere around the grill of the jeep. The borrowed nightgown stuck to her mostly from the mud Harry knew she'd landed in earlier. Her body was still shaking as she tried to work on the jeep.

"You met her family, then," Harry said, turning his attention back to Hermione.

"Yes, she just came back from there," Hermione frowned as she spoke.

"Did you prefer her father, her grandfather, or her uncle?" Harry asked.

"The weird man that hissed at her was her uncle?" Hermione said.

"Yes. And he was speaking to her in Parseltongue. I forgot that you don't speak that. Mostly he mistook her for her mother and started ordering her about," Harry said. "Really a piece of work."

"They weren't very nice," Hermione admitted, but she furrowed her brow and looked rather confused as Lieutenant Price entered the barn.

"No, they were not," Harry said.

"Please tell me she doesn't kill him, too," Hermione said. "He deserves a lot better than that."

"What do you consider better than that?" Harry asked, doing his best to suppress a smirk as he knew exactly just what would happen between Emily and Martin. Of course, he blushed a little bit as he realized he was about to watch that for a second time, but this time with Hermione present.

"Anything," Hermione said. "Tell me she doesn't murder him."

"She doesn't murder him," Harry said.

"Good," Hermione responded. She sighed almost dreamily as Martin pulled her off of the jeep, wincing in pain as he landed oddly on his injured leg. Martin hugged her to him, ignoring the grime that caked her, and started whispering calming things to the young girl.

"Somebody has a crush," Harry said.

"No! I don't!" Hermione gasped. "He's just a noble soldier. He just wants to do his part. And, well."

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry smirked. "I get it. Men in uniform and all that. Supposedly irresistible to you females. It's the sole reason I wanted to play quidditch."

"Ha ha," Hermione intoned dully, rolling her eyes. "Military uniforms are way sexier than quidditch uniforms, anyway."

"If you insist," Harry said. But he couldn't help but smile at the simple fact that Hermione was at least joking with him again. Sure, she was never the funniest person around, but she did usually make a comment or two that could amuse him. And it seemed a bit of that old Hermione was coming back out.

"I do. That can't be good for his leg," she said as Marin scooped Emily into his arms and started carrying her back to the Bennett household.

"Well, spoiler alert, he makes it," Harry said.

"I assumed," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So, what'd you think of her family?" Harry asked again as they followed Lieutenant Price back to the house.

"That they didn't deserve to die like that," Hermione said sternly. "That she had a thousand other avenues to deal with that problem. To just Apparate away or to flee or even to just stun them and leave."

"That was my first thought too," Harry said.

"But not your second?" Hermione asked.

"Well, when I thought more about it. I'm not sure that I would have acted any differently," Harry admitted.

"I am," Hermione said. "Or the Dursleys wouldn't be alive."

"I don't know if that's quite the same," Harry said.

"I do," Hermione said.

"Well still, she was utterly neglected through her childhood. I think she was assaulted by people at the orphanage, or affiliated with the orphanage. She wouldn't talk about it. I'm pretty sure she started this here because, well, to her here is where life started to feel like life," Harry said, wondering why that thought hadn't really occurred to him before that moment.

Then again, he often heard that seeing things for a second time brought a new perspective. And he had the advantage of looking back on past events with knowledge of the future that would come.

"She still killed them, Harry. Brutally," Hermione said. "It was horrifying to watch."

"Horrifying to her, too. Hence the vomiting into the mud and the fact that she can barely walk and the crazed tugging at branches on the jeep. Still, after all of that, she finally meets the people that she thought, if they were around, her life wouldn't have been utterly miserable. And the first one tortures her, and then the rest try to kill her," Harry argued.

"And there are multiple corpses because of it. Where there could have been living, happy, people," Hermione said. "They didn't deserve that."

"Either did she," Harry countered. Hermione frowned at him.

"Probably not. But that doesn't mean they deserved worse. And she should have strived to be better than them. She could have solved her problems some other way. She…oh…she's naked again." Hermione blushed as she spoke. Harry looked at Emily in the bathroom and nodded.

"That does happen," Harry said.

"Hopefully less soon?" Hermione said.

"It does seem to go away for a few years," Harry said.

"And then comes back?" Hermione asked.

"Well she gets married, Ron told you that already. But it starts to sort of skim things here and there. You can fast forward too," Harry said.

"Figured that out," Hermione said. "It was freaky the first time."

"I thought so too," Harry laughed

"I can't imagine Lord Voldemort getting married," Hermione said.

"Lord Voldemort doesn't," Harry said. "Emily Riddle does."

"Same thing," Hermione said.

"Does she seem like the same person you saw annihilate a room full of wizards and then have eating out of her hand?" Harry asked.

"More or less," Hermione said. "Younger and less sure of herself. But some of it is still there. Do you think Lieutenant Price just felt sorry for her? Or that he's a man and she's an eligible female with a great dimple?"

"Oh, so you're into dimples now?" Harry asked. "Well that's a shame I don't know anyone with a dimple. Well, except for Phoebe, a neighborhood girl I met at Privet drive."

"And Lord Voldemort?" Hermione interrupted.

"And I didn't think you swung that way," Harry finished. "But, I mean, I'd watch. I can invite Phoebe over too."

"Gross," Hermione laughed.

"Disagree," Harry said.

"You would. Anyway, on the topic of dimples, that Hufflepuff that amuses you, Ernie, he has one dimple," Hermione said. "If you want to invite him up to your dormitory so I can watch."

"Hadn't noticed," Harry said, flushing a bit at the implication. "Also, I'm too busy imagining other things to think about Ernie's dimple."

"Remind me to slap you when I can actually hit you," Hermione said.

"Okay," Harry said.

"I guess she is rather pretty," Hermione said, looking back at Emily. "I mean not gorgeous but it's not like she's an Eloise Midgen."

"Didn't you yell at Ron for harping on her?" Harry said.

"Well yes, but that's Ron," Hermione said. "The fact that he should be less terrible about how a girl looks does not mean that Eloise is pretty."

"And I mean yeah, Emily's pretty. Really, she looks a lot like you," Harry said. His eyes slipped from Emily in the bathtub, nearing the end of her cleaning ritual, to Hermione standing next to him, flushed a deep pink.

"Oh," Hermione said, her tone rather high.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Nothing. But, it's not like she'd let you watch anyway," Hermione said.

"About that," Harry ran a hand through his hair as Emily rose from the tub, dried off, and tossed herself onto Martin's lap.

"Oh God, they're going to have sex," Hermione blushed even more deeply.

"They are," Harry said. "Did you want to skip that?"

"Oh, uhm," Hermione stuttered. "No, that's fine. I mean it's her diary she must have thought it significant."

"Not telling," Harry said.

"You're a prat," Hermione responded, looking absolutely everywhere in the bathroom except at Martin and Emily.

"I know," Harry said as they continued to watch. They got through Emily's remaining time in the village. Hermione seemed most interested in her playing the violin. And her trip back to London and to school.

She made him skip through the school year, though. She claimed she didn't want the stupid advantage of having viewed the lessons before. Harry tried to argue that she barely focused on them, but they ended up watching the year at a significantly faster pace.

Her next summer, where she spent her days locked in a room practicing magic, didn't amuse Hermione that much either. Nor did her year as Head Girl. Although Hermione seemed more interested about what she got up to at Hogwarts as the head, she still skipped through most of it.

He watched her as she cried during the Battle of Nurmengard and the subsequent duel with Grindelwald. He didn't say anything until after the battle was over, and Emily regained consciousness in the hospital wing at Hogwarts and Dumbledore told her everything that happened.

"I think it's probably time for dinner," Harry said.

"You're probably right," Hermione sniffed as they departed the diary.

"What's up?" he asked. She just frowned at him.

"I like her," she said.

"Annoying, isn't it?" Harry laughed.

"Very," Hermione said. "But I don't understand."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Everything," Hermione frowned. "Something has to be wrong. She gave, well, she gave everything for Dumbledore. She almost died for him. She can't…she can't have a family now. What happened?"

"I don't know yet," Harry said. "A great many things from what I've been able to see. I'm sure it's a combination of everything. You already saw most of what I did to really push her. There's some things you missed but they'll come."

"I shouldn't feel bad for her," Hermione sniffed again. Harry reached up and brushed a tear from her face.

"I shouldn't either," Harry said. "But I do."

"That's so wrong," Hermione flushed as he touched her, but leaned her face into his touch.

"Probably. Which is why it's best to just go and eat rather than dwell on it for too long," Harry said.

"Now you sound like Ron," Hermione laughed.

"Well you did call me a prat. And I believe you were going to slap me for being one," Harry responded.

"That's right," Hermione smirked and then did. Much harder than Harry would have suspected. He brought his hand up to his cheek and rubbed it gently.

"Ow!" he exclaimed.

"Sorry!" Hermione flushed crimson and brought her hands to her face in surprise, like she didn't think she was capable of hitting him hard enough to hurt him.

"I'm fine," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders and removing his hand. "But, you could always kiss it and make it better."

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked. She pulled her hand back as if to slap him again, but this time Harry actually winced away and it gave her pause. She stared at him for a moment, and then, to his rather great surprise, leaned toward him.

She hesitated with her face close to his, and then tilted her head toward his cheek. He could feel her warm breath on his cheek and smell the lingering spearmint in the air. But he froze. He couldn't think of anything to do.

And then she did it. Her lips were soft and warm on his cheek. It couldn't have lasted more than a second, but it managed to be the longest and quickest second of his young life. She traced them toward his ear and whispered.

"Better?"

"Uh-huh," he shivered, barely able to enunciate the words that weren't really words.

"Good," she said jovially as she slipped over him and off the bed. "Let's go get dinner then."

"Okay," Harry said, taking a moment to recover.

"Well come on," she said, standing near the stairs out of the dormitory. "I'm not walking out of your dormitory alone."

"Right," Harry laughed. And they slipped from the dormitory and into the common room. They exchanged a couple of pleasantries with some of their classmates before joining a train of people heading down for the evening meal.

Ron met them in the Great Hall. He looked rather exhausted from all the quidditch. Harry noticed that Hermione sat a few places down from them and immediately started talking with Ginny and Lavender.

He eavesdropped on their conversation for a moment before Ron demanded his attention to go over quidditch strategies. Angelina and Katie joined them and the conversation eventually turned from quidditch to Dumbledore's Army and the possibility of it restarting. Harry continued to be as non-committal about the entire thing as he could be. But without Umbridge it appeared that most students were willing to violate every single decree possible.

While Harry could certainly understand where they were coming from. The scars on his hand made him a little more hesitant. But he also thought he'd be able to get away with a study group with Percy Weasley in charge. Still, he'd give it a few days before he did anything about it. It just seemed wise to not force the issue as of yet.

After dinner they retired to the common room where Harry spent most of the evening with Ron, Fred, and George experimenting with their joke shop products. Ron retired fairly early, but he stayed up with the twins until close to midnight. He was the last boy in his year to head up to the dormitory.

He wasn't surprised to find Hermione there. Even though he wasn't sure when she'd gone up to bed. She was laying on his bed with the curtains drawn. This time she wore pink pajamas. She was already staring blankly at the diary. Harry changed and joined her.

They lasted until Emily left for Japan. Of all of it, Hermione seemed most interested in her lunch date with Martin. And frowned sadly when he talked of his fiancé. After that she decided she needed sleep.

Harry woke up a few hours later, strangely alert in the early morning hours. He just sighed, knowing it would take a while to fall back asleep. He spent a few moments just staring down at the mane of hair resting on his chest, before he grabbed the diary again.

He held it in one hand for a moment, peering down at Hermione's sleeping form. It felt awkward to go back in while she was asleep. He felt like he should maybe pay attention to her. But he also didn't think she'd be really happy if he woke her up.

And given his general lack of experience with people in his bed he didn't really have anything to base it on. But when he weighed all of the options he figured that she'd be more likely to be annoyed at him for waking her than she would be for watching more of the past. So, he was stuck with a bit of a conundrum there.

Eventually, he decided that it was just going to be easiest if he went into the diary.

He watched what must have been months, or possibly even years pass rather quickly. He saw Death Eaters come up with plots, enact them, and accomplish their goals. At first it was all minor things, they were simply putting certain people into certain positions and starting to very slowly enact legislation.

It was, to Harry's surprise, met with surprisingly little resistance at first. But there was very little to resist. None of the points seemed overly absurd to him. And certainly not the type of things he would consider that absurd. The first one that gained much momentum was a proposal forcing goblins to allow for interest on vaults rather than charging for accounts.

There were other, minor things, too. But nothing Harry thought was particularly serious. Once or twice there were mysterious disappearances of political adversaries. Which Harry thought was a bit more serious.

But there weren't any pitched battles or epic duels. Instead just meetings and chatting and politicking. He knew it couldn't stay that way, he knew something would have to spur it into the military nature it would take. But it just never came.

He saw time pass quickly. He saw the ranks of the meetings grow. He saw them all constantly defer to Emily. He saw them jokingly go from calling her their lord to Lord Voldemort. And he saw her embrace it, turning their joke on its head.

Eventually, he saw her return to Hogwarts with a group of them. He recognized the elder Avery and an older Malfoy as well as Sirius's parents. They stopped in the Hogs Head for a drink and some brief conversation that they were not sure of just what this next step gained their cause.

But Emily assured them it would further their advancement. They argued with her but she silenced them with a wave of her hand. Eventually she left them at the tavern, heading toward the castle on a damp, rainy, summer night. She looked thoroughly uncomfortable in the outfit. Harry thought it seemed oddly familiar and it took him a moment to place that she'd worn it while entertaining with Martin once before.

It consisted of nothing black. Instead she had a colorful circle skirt and a dark blouse on paired with short heels. She'd styled her hair back into a bun and seemed to have some conservative touches of makeup on.

She entered the castle and wandered up to the seventh floor. Harry thought that was odd until she stopped outside of the Room of Requirement. She paced for a few moments before entering. He watched her enter a room filled with junk. Harry paced around it while she walked into a corner and took a tiara out of her pocket. He recognized it instantly as what Wormtail had thrown into the cauldron when she'd come back. And the same thing she'd found in a hallow in Romania.

She placed it on a mannequin in a corner, adjusting it carefully, before turning and leaving the room. Harry floated out through the wall and followed her through the corridors and straight to the gargoyle outside of Dumbledore's office.

"I have an appointment at seven," she said. She held out her wrist and peered at a small silver watch there. Harry looked over her shoulder and saw it was a few minutes before the top of the hour. The gargoyle waited for a few moments before stepping aside.

She walked up the stairs and entered Dumbledore's office. He sat at the desk, leaning on his elbows and staring at her. His eyes were hard and focused directly on her but he still looked moderately surprised to see her.

"Good evening, Professor," she said quietly as she stepped up toward the desk.

"Good evening, Miss Riddle. Please sit," he said quietly. Harry raised an eyebrow at him. Emily's eyes narrowed but she reacted sweetly as she sat.

"That isn't my name," she said.

"Ah yes," Dumbledore said. "So that may not be what your follower's down at the Hog's Head are calling you currently or whatever assumed identity you go by now. But you'll have to excuse me. It's an annoying trait of old teachers that we have the hardest times forgetting the simple beginnings of our charges."

"Well, perhaps I'll understand that in a few years," Emily smiled a very fake looking smile at Dumbledore. He wondered just how she managed to smile without having her dimple on prime display. However she did it, he decided he didn't like it.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said in a way that indicated that did not think it was something she would ever understand. They were silent for a few moments before Emily cracked first.

"I do not really have a whole lot of experience with job interviews," she lied. Harry remembered her interviewing for many jobs after graduating. But she hadn't gotten those. One of the quickest ones had been with Burke. That had been about four questions and then hired. But in all of those cases the person had talked to her. Dumbledore instead just stared at her.

"Your previous employer does speak highly of your work ethic," Dumbledore said. "He wrote me a letter of reference and said you brought great joy to the workplace and were a valuable asset to his business and that he hated to see you go. So just why have you decided to pursue another career?"

"Never really wanted to be a shop girl," Emily said. "Always wanted to do something that helped people. Saw this as an opportunity to shape young minds, as it were."

"You have no educational experience," Dumbledore said pointedly.

"I did some governess work while in Japan," Emily said.

"Yes, Mister Burke mentioned that you spent a great deal of time trying to teach magic to locals. He did not know if you were very successful in that endeavor," Dumbledore said.

"Well there were outside circumstances involved," Emily said.

"Like finding the time to plunder a war-torn country?" Dumbledore asked. Emily raised her brows at him but kept her composure.

"Among other things," she said quietly. Harry noted she didn't refute the claim or the connotation. "I'm sure you read the letter that Healer Singh sent about what we both attempted while in Japan. And I'm sure you've read the papers he wrote on the effect the atomic weaponry had on magic in Japan. The same ones that I did provide some assistance with the research on."

"I did," Dumbledore said. "Very interesting theories although I myself do not put much stock in them."

"Have you gone to see the testing grounds?" Emily asked.

"I have not," Dumbledore said.

"Well then," Emily responded. "I would suggest that you pay them a visit."

"Perhaps someday I will," Dumbledore said.

"So are you going to interview me or are you just going to leer at me," Emily asked.

"Well, Miss Riddle," he started.

"That isn't my name," Emily snapped. Dumbledore raised his brows at her.

"I do not think you are actually interested in the job," Dumbledore finished.

"If I wasn't interested in the job I wouldn't have wasted my, or your, time by coming to interview," Emily said.

"Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your days teaching defensive magic to students? While your supporters, what? Continue to make people disappear or push agendas that weaken everyone who isn't magical?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think I would be an exceptional teacher," Emily said. "And I would like to be seriously considered for the position. As for whatever cult you think I'm a part of, I would suspect if I were that important they would flounder without me and things would return to the status quo you seem to enjoy."

"Oh? Is that a peace offering?" Dumbledore laughed. "If I put you under my thumb, they'll all cease to be? Forgive me for not believing that for a moment."

"It's up to you what you believe," she said. "Still, I doubt you'll find a better candidate than me."

"Well, despite my qualms, you do have an impressive resume. With varied experiences and a well-rounded background. You were an impressive student, you were decorated in the war. You have impressive recommendations from various high-quality people, including one of our own in Professor Slughorn. In normal circumstances I would be overjoyed by such an applicant," Dumbledore said.

"I'm sensing a but," Emily responded.

"But, I've been doing some research into you and your time outside of school," Dumbledore said.

"And?" Emily sighed.

"And when you stayed in Greater Hangleton during the war. Certainly, you remember that summer, the one after the Chamber of Secrets mysteriously reopened and you caught the culprit. A fine moment for you," Dumbledore said.

"I remember it just fine," Emily said.

"Well when you were there, quite mysteriously, three Riddles and a Gaunt were murdered. Does that not seem awkward, Miss Riddle?" Dumbledore asked. Emily's eyes flashed with anger again.

"I believe there was an investigation into that and it concluded that Gaunt killed the Riddles," Emily responded coolly.

"Seems awkward, doesn't it?" Dumbledore asked.

"Murders in the countryside? Oh yes it was quite the event. The talk of the town for the next few weeks. At least until the North Africa campaign took over the news. It was, sadly, not as intriguing as the dashing Desert Fox and if our boys would survive," Emily said.

"I'm sure war news took precedent. But still, three of your relatives, including your father, died while you were around. Surely you had more interest in it than that," Dumbledore said.

"None," Emily responded harshly. "I had no idea they were even there or that we were of any relation. You know I grew up in an orphanage. You found me there."

"I did," Dumbledore said he opened his mouth to continue but Emily cut him off, a cold vehemence in her voice.

"An orphanage where I was sold off to vile men," Emily said.

"I don't-"

"Vile men who used me to fulfil their desires," Emily spat.

"Miss Rid-"

"Men who would hold my head where they wanted it until I did what they wanted. Men who would hit me until I stopped crying. Because a lover shouldn't be crying. Oh yes, they'd call me that. Their little lover. And then you show up and actually take me away from there. But then you sent me back. You sent me to that hell every summer," Emily spat.

"I didn't know," Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes twinkled but Harry could not read his expression.

"Oh of course you didn't. Such as easy excuse. The all-knowing Dumbledore didn't know. He didn't even bother trying to investigate why the girl was crying in the head's office every time she had to go home. Why she begged to stay at the school. Why she was afraid of older students, professors, and the creepy old man who cleaned the castle. Why she struggled to make friends or why she avoided any contact. No, it was so much easier to just peg her as a bully. Oh, eventually she was charming. But it had to be because she wanted something. Because she was evil. Not because she was just trying desperately to not have to go back to that hell," Emily shook her head.

"I," Dumbledore started.

"Sat up in your ivory tower and concocted your own little theories about a twelve-year-old girl. A twelve-year-old girl who spent many nights that summer in the beds of sixty-year-old men. Would little Ariana have liked that, do you think, in her last years of life? To be held down and fucked by men five times her age?"

"Miss," Dumbledore started, clearly trying to calm her down now. But Emily's eyes just darkened, green and purple magic was swirling around her.

"So yes, obviously, the young girl who wanted nothing more than the salvation of a family. Anything to save her from the hell she lived in, any adult to act like an adult, yes, she killed her only remaining family and ended any hope she had of that," Emily said.

"I didn't," Dumbledore said.

"Oh, you didn't know? Well that makes it all better," Emily rolled her eyes and then snapped again, standing as she spoke. "Of course, you didn't know. You didn't care. You don't even care enough now to call me by my name. You're as much of the problem as the rest of them. Sitting up here and thinking you have any idea what's going on in the rest of the world."

"Emily, you should calm," Dumbledore said.

"Oh yes. I should calm down. A perfect little English lady shouldn't show emotions. No. This was actually very enlightening. When I came here I was ready to just settle down. I didn't think what I was doing was worth it. But you've reminded me that there is still so much left to do. So much wrong with this society that needs to be rectified," Emily said.

"And you're the one to rectify it?" Dumbledore asked.

"When no one else will, I will have to. And now I'm not going to rest until the world is rid of relics like you," Emily said.

"You don't have that power," Dumbledore responded, leaning back in his chair and peering over his spectacles at her.

"We both know that's a lie. So, Albus, thank you for your time," Emily laughed as the magical aura around her intensified. She yelled in shocked pain as it flared off her and into the castle walls, absorbing into the stone.

"What have you done?" Dumbledore gasped.

"Best of luck filling the position," Emily said. She took a deep breath and turned to exit the office. Harry watched as Dumbledore looked around the office, his expression filled with concern, before following Emily out. She walked slowly, he saw tears streaking down her face, running through the makeup she'd put on. He pressed his lips together and reflected on her words as he moved.

But then he sniffled as all of her words hit him. As he realized just what had happened to her before the diary memories began. And he realized he was crying. He closed his eyes and slipped from the memory. He sniffled again when he found himself back in his bed. He tightened his grip on Hermione out of instinct and stared up at the ceiling.

"Are you crying?" Hermione whispered sleepily from his chest.

"No," he said shakily, fighting back the tears that were threatening to come forth. "Just a weird dream. Go back to sleep."

"You sure?" she asked with a soft yawn.

"Yes, go back to sleep," he said again. She nodded softly and shifted against him. She continued to fidget until he heard her soft snores. He didn't sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Rpeh on the beta work.

Chapter 27

Harry let Hermione borrow the diary after that evening. He felt like he needed some time off from viewing the past. He wasn't sure what exactly spurred him to that decision. But that next morning he'd just let her take it while he went about his Sunday routine. Which he quickly realized, while he lay on his bed and stared at the curtains, was considerably more difficult without the diary.

He found himself wandering out by the lake and thinking about what he'd seen, and what he heard. It was an odd situation. In his mind he knew that Dumbledore hadn't been wrong. He couldn't possibly fathom that she would have actually wanted to be the defense professor.

But what if she had? He frowned to himself. Other professors were around for a very long time. Hell, Dumbledore was still the head. He wondered if he'd have had her as a professor. If she'd have been around for that long. He imagined an aged Emily, looking oddly like Professor McGonagall, teaching defense.

He had to admit that he figured the lessons would be quite a bit better than anything he'd experienced, except for perhaps the ones from Lupin. He didn't see a way that Emily, no, Professor Price, could have been worse than any of the professors he'd had. He was fairly confident in that opinion after their little private lessons.

Anger flashed through him a moment later. His shoulders and neck tensed as one thought filled his mind. If she'd taken that job, if she'd gone on to just teach defense, then she probably wouldn't have killed his parents. And Dumbledore hadn't even bothered to give her a proper interview.

The very same Dumbledore that stood before him and preached empathy and second chances couldn't be bothered to try to reason with her, interview her, or give her any chance. He'd made up his mind well before he'd even spoke to her.

So why had he even wanted to have the meeting with her. Did he just think he was going to lecture her and that would be the end of it? Did he really think that one event from when she was sixteen predetermined her fate? She'd fought with him after that.

But it hadn't mattered. He knew that. Dumbledore had still, supposedly, tried to prevent her from gaining any employment. He'd still been cautious of her. But what better way to be cautious of her than in an environment where he'd be able to monitor her daily?

Harry buried his face in his hands, fighting against the oncoming headache as far too many thoughts spilled through his mind all in one go. He tried to focus but his vision became blurry for a moment. He took a few deep breaths and let his thoughts focus.

It wasn't right, he knew, blaming Dumbledore for it all. Dumbledore didn't kill his parents. Dumbledore didn't torture Neville's parents. Dumbledore didn't string muggles up by their ankles at the World Cup.

Could he have stopped it? Maybe? Maybe not. There was no real way to know, because that wasn't what had happened. It was just as likely that she had an ulterior motive for even looking into the job and that she really had no intention of teaching.

Was it though? Harry frowned at the thought. He couldn't say he knew her mind. In fact she always seemed to be well ahead of him when they conversed, always like she knew something he didn't. But he had witnessed a great deal of her past. He knew how she reacted to things. He thought he could tell what she thought about things.

When they were together in Chicago he felt like he grew to be able to understand her reactions, her looks, her ticks. He thought he could figure out what she was thinking in most situations

And in his opinion, well, she didn't search for things without a good reason. And everything she did had some sort of logic behind it. And the only time Harry had seen her give up on something was after Martin had died.

He'd watched her try to press through the muddy battlefields of the Second World War to try to end the battles. He'd watched her apply to job after job after job, always maintaining a positivity through it all. He'd watched her answer every letter from Martin with positive, encouraging words while tears streamed down her cheeks while she thought he'd moved on with his life. And then he'd watched her win him over again.

Yes, he thought, he could say that without qualm. Emily did not approach things for no reason. And always gave whatever she tried one hundred percent of her attention. It was remarkable the amount of focus she put into even the simplest things.

She would have done everything in her power to be the best professor she could have been. He didn't know how long that would have lasted. But he knew she would have, at the very least, done that.

How could Dumbledore have not known that? He said he'd looked into her. He said he had followed her. That he'd watched her career. How could he have done that and not understood her at all?

Then again, he'd called her Riddle. That had to have been some sort of taunt, right? There was no way the letters, the application, everything she'd submitted hadn't said Price on them. Had Dumbledore not realized the biggest events of her life? Had he formed his opinion based on her career and what he'd seen during the war and left it at that?

While he couldn't imagine Dumbledore coming to a conclusion based off of half the information available. But he also had a hard time believing that Dumbledore really spent any chunk of his time inquiring after former students. That just seemed like something that would have been unusual. And, Harry suspected that Borgin and Burke wouldn't have been upfront with any information, either.

But it didn't seem right to assume Dumbledore didn't know something. He always seemed to know everything. It had to have just been some sort of taunt. And judging by how she'd reacted it had worked nearly perfectly.

He didn't know what to think. He turned his thoughts to anything else, anything other than her interview, but it didn't help. No matter what he did his mind turned back to it. So instead he just stared blankly at the lake. And when that didn't help he just started shooting spells off into the water, seeing which made the biggest splash.

It only entertained him for a few minutes and then he sat down and stared at the water again. The water reminded him of sitting near the Thames with Emily on that evening he'd snuck out to ask about Brecon. Something from that memory bothered him though.

It clicked a few minutes later. It had been what she'd teased him with. She'd told him she lost her virginity at sixteen, to a man older than her. He'd assumed that was Martin. He'd seen that, she'd been surprised by the entire thing. Why would she have told him that?

Well that's obvious, a meaner voice said in his head, she wasn't being honest with you. But why would she do that? Harry couldn't help but frown. He didn't think she did that with him. She'd always seemed to be honest. Why would she lie?

Because she didn't think childhood rape was a particularly good after-dinner conversation? You saw her life, she never even talked about it with her husband. Why would she have talked about it with you?

Because, well, because, because…

Exactly. She wouldn't. It's not a part of her past she enjoys thinking about. So, she's certainly not going to just bring it up. Besides, she shared a more positive memory, something where she was finally in control, something she actually enjoyed. While it might not have actually been her virginity, it was obviously important to her.

That sounds stupid.

Well fine, keep thinking that then. It's not like she was just teasing you to gauge a reaction. Like she didn't particularly choose her words there just to see how you would react, to see how embarrassed you would get, and to gauge her future actions based off of some of the information she was gathering that evening.

Gathering information? Why would she have been gathering information?

Why were you?

Because there was something I wanted to know and there was not anyone else that would actually give me any of the information I was looking for.

Exactly.

But that was stupid. What could she have possibly wanted to learn about him? It wasn't like he was really a secretive person. And there is very little that someone else couldn't have told her. And that was just weird anyway. And that wasn't how Em acted. And besi-

Emily.

What?

Emily.

Fine, that wasn't how Emily acted. Sure, she tried to be aloof, but more often than not her demeanor cracked. She'd end up laughing and smiling and that stupid dimple would be on prime display and then he'd laugh and smile. It was annoyingly infectious.

And you think that she became the fiercest dark witch the world has ever known by simply laughing and smiling. That they followed her because they were hoping for a smile?

Well some of them, maybe.

You've seen why they followed her. They followed her because she was stronger than them, better than them, and they knew it. They followed strength, not some gothic Lolita fetish of some sort. No, you know better than that. You know what she'd have done to them if that had been remotely the case.

True enough. She wouldn't have tolerated that. She'd already hurt some of them for far less. But she did smile at them, she was warm with them on some occasions. She provided praise for success. And he could tell that they were quite receptive to when she was being kind.

"Hey Harry," someone said from behind him while he was in mid thought. He looked up and saw the Weasley twins.

"Hey guys," he said, turning his attention back to the lake. "Enjoying your Sunday?"

"We are," George laughed. "Looked like you were as well."

"Just what did the lake ever do to you to deserve being cursed?" Fred added.

"Looked at me funny," Harry chuckled.

"Sure it did," Fred laughed.

"Should we start selling tickets?" George asked.

"To what?" Harry asked.

"The Harry Potter versus Giant Squid match," Fred answered.

"I feel like that would be a short fight. Better make sure there's a good undercard," Harry said.

"Any thoughts for that?" George asked.

"Hermione against Crabbe and Goyle," Harry suggested.

"No good," Fred sighed. "You'd just intervene and destroy them."

"Probably," Harry admitted. "But I'm not sure how that's a bad thing."

"You bring up a good point," George said.

"Now rather than wasting your time with the lake. How about you teach us some of those spells?" Fred asked.

"Why?" Harry laughed.

"Because we have a clever line for joke products. Like hats with shield charms on them, and the more things we're sure that they can stop, the better. And I didn't recognize any of those," Fred said.

"Sounds like a kind of pointless product," Harry said.

"Probably," George shrugged. "But should be a bit of a laugh. You know trick you mate into cursing you or whatever. And the first ones will be very cheap to make. So mostly it's just a matter of testing it out and seeing if there's any interest.

"Well then, I have nothing better to do," Harry said. He turned and conjured a few targeting dummies and set them up a few paces away, just off the path. The twins exchanged a glance as he did it.

"Uh, Harry?" Fred asked.

"What?" Harry said, examining one of the training dummies.

"Where's your wand?" George asked.

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"You just summoned those by waving your hand," Fred said.

"Oh yeah, I've been working on that," Harry said quickly. He peered down at his left hand and noticed the very odd tingling sensation that was slowly enveloping it. He flexed his fingers a little bit before shoving the hand into his pocket.

He withdrew his wand and turned toward the practice targets hoping to draw attention from how the targets appeared by lecturing on how best to destroy them. The twins seemed to be far more interested in that anyway.

So, he started to demonstrate spells and then let the twins practice. It only took about fifteen minutes for a crowd to gather. A few Slytherins saw the group and fled into the castle, undoubtedly looking for a professor as they vanished into the castle.

It was Percy Weasley that found them. He kept his distance, his auror bodyguard with him, as he watched Harry teach defensive magic to a large group of people. He didn't stop them. Rather he just observed. Professor Snape emerged with a couple of the Slytherin students that had seen the group forming. He said something to Percy but Percy simply waved him off. They argued for a few moments before Snape retreated into the castle with the auror's wand drawn on him.

Percy let them continue until dinner time. At that point he wandered over to the group and made them go back into the castle for the evening meal. Some of the students argued but Harry dismissed them. They'd had what was nearly a full meeting of Dumbledore's Army without any repercussion. Harry figured that was enough of a win for the day.

The impromptu meeting was the primary topic of conversation for the rest of the evening. It even resulted in a small party in the Gryffindor common room. At least until Harry retired for the evening.

He found himself mildly disappointed when Hermione didn't join him that evening. He stayed awake longer then he normally would, just staring at the curtains and wondering about the day. But eventually sleep did win out.

The next few weeks settled into a routine. Harry was most surprised with the new Professor Weasley. While he still made them read from an incredibly remedial textbook. He at least demonstrated some magic toward the end of the class.

When the weekend rolled around Harry found himself at the lake again on Saturday. Once more, more students gathered around him and once more he began an impromptu lesson. By the third weekend of this it became one of the more popular groups at Hogwarts.

On the fifth weekend, Percy made him let the Slytherin students participate as well, stating clubs were not exclusive. Harry almost argued but only three students from that house had shown up, and they were all first or second years. So, he just paired them up with some of the younger ones and went about his business.

More annoyingly, however, was that Percy started to continually attempt to coerce him into coming to the ministry. Harry repeatedly declined and Percy was becoming more and more aggressive about it. Harry even saw Percy and Fudge arguing about it one evening in the Great Hall. He'd bailed out immediately upon seeing the minister. Thankfully Ron snuck some food up to the dormitory that evening and Harry ate most of it. He was attempting to study, which was mostly just staring blankly at Hermione's notes.

Hermione plopped down on the couch next to him as he peered at her notes. She was still in her uniform and he figured she must have had her weekly prefect patrol that evening.

"Can I ask a favor?" she asked.

"What's that?" Harry responded.

"Can I borrow the cloak again?" she blushed as she said it, as if she was embarrassed to ask for it.

"What for?" Ron asked. "You're a prefect you can wander around the halls at night without repercussion.

"I want to check something in the library and it will look less suspicious than if I patrolled it for a while," Hermione said.

"Sure," Harry stood from the couch. "Let me go grab it." He wandered up to the dormitory and fetched it before returning to the common room and giving it to her. She hugged him before he went out on patrol.

She hadn't returned by the time he went up to bed and to sleep. He woke when she shifted under the covers with him. His arms wrapped around her out of instinct. She'd opted for the nightgown this time and it was quite soft against his fingers.

"You didn't want to sneak around the library, did you?" he asked quietly.

"No," she said. "I didn't. I. I feel safer here. I sleep better here."

"Me too," Harry said.

"Good," she said with a small yawn. "I brought the diary back. But I think I'm just going to doze off."

"Okay," Harry said. "How far did you get?"

"She's pregnant," Hermione said.

"Ah," Harry said.

"You kind of ruined it, though," Hermione said.

"How's that?" Harry asked.

"Because I've seen ahead and there's no kid and no Martin," Hermione sighed. "And you already told me at the meeting thing we watched."

"Oh," Harry said quietly.

"I hate that I like her," Hermione said.

"I know," Harry responded. Hermione wiggled against him, trying to get comfortable. Harry held onto her.

"Thanks for letting me borrow it," she said.

"Anytime," he responded. Then after a brief pause added. "You can hang onto the cloak for a while, too."

"You just want me to keep sneaking into your dormitory," Hermione scoffed.

"Guilty," Harry admitted. "We do need to make sure you get enough sleep with exams coming up."

"Oh yes, I'm sure that is your exact reasoning," Hermione said.

"It so is," Harry said. Hermione shook her head and buried her face into the crook of his neck. She didn't respond, but he felt her breathing slow and in minutes he knew she was asleep. He didn't join her. Suddenly, he simply wasn't tired.

He held his hand out toward the bedside table and the diary flew into it. He flipped it open, to a spot he could instinctively find, and stared at the faded parchment.

Harry Potter watched the First Wizarding War. It started, to his surprise, with an obituary. He didn't know why she forced the prophet to run one about Emily Riddle, dated the first of September after she applied for the job.

Perhaps it was simply to completely give in to the myth she'd created about herself, perhaps it was simply a message for Dumbledore. He had no idea. But he saw her staring down at the page in the Prophet with the strangest expression. Almost like she was envious of the words.

After that, though, everything changed. Violence bled through everything. Political wins turned into literal massacres and her followers took full advantage. Time was fuzzy in the diary, and the war sped by. Suddenly entire conversations were in Harry's head. Conversations between people he hardly knew, about topics he didn't understand.

It didn't seem to matter, though. Something had changed. She'd made a decision that ended it all. And now, it was battle regardless. He felt like he could hear her thoughts, hear her reasoning. And in her mind, she knew that the only way she could make the world how she wanted it, would be to crush all of the opposition.

He heard about the superiority of magic constantly. He heard about how magic must control those without. He heard about how muggles were really nothing but toys. Emily refuted that, at first. But she stopped tormenting them for it after a few years. At least Harry thought it was years. She seemed to stop caring that they used muggles as an outlet for anything.

Except for rape. Even a rumor of rape resulted in a dead Death Eater or two. But nothing else seemed to really rile her up. Somehow her indifference to it all seemed to be even scarier than when she took an active role. As a whole, as Harry watched, he thought she really just seemed tired more than anything else.

Eventually, Dumbledore met her at every turn. The Order of the Phoenix worked against everything she strove for. It didn't often turn into a pitched battle, but here and there it did. He watched her duel Dumbledore on multiple occasions, often to a standstill.

Death Eaters questioned why she didn't kill the old man. She scoffed at them. She couldn't, she explained. But not because of physical, or magical as it were, ability. But because she would simply make a martyr out of him.

Indeed, every time they killed a member of The Order, it seemed three more took his place. Harry frowned at those conversations. At every angle it seemed to be a losing fight. But he knew the other side felt the same way, from what they'd told them.

It continued for years. Years of death, of assassinations, of fear, of anything to possibly turn the scales. And to some extent, it worked. There was unrest all around but her followers stayed focused with her.

Harry watched the bodies pile up as rhetoric filled his head. He tuned it out and frowned against all of the carnage happening around him. Time continued to fly by. Harry saw more familiar faces join into the battles against her. He saw Remus first, and then Peter, and then Sirius and finally his father.

They surprised her. They struck against her more effectively than anyone had before, including Dumbledore. They raided spots where she was, they actively hunted Death Eaters, and they forced her onto the run multiple times.

Harry though this would annoy her. But rather it seemed to amuse her. He watched the four of them, looking just fresh out of Hogwarts, duel her to a standstill in a village he didn't know. Just when she was starting to turn the tide, Lily snuck into the battle and managed to hit her with a hex Harry didn't recognize and they all fled.

He saw Pettigrew's betrayal. She and a younger Avery had captured him in a pub one evening. And she'd swayed him to switch sides. She told him that he didn't understand what he was fighting for, that he should be striving for a world where magic was superior. Where he didn't have to cower and rely on others. Pettigrew bought it hook, line and sinker.

And then it all came to ahead at once. He watched her walk down stone street, past a sign that said 'Welcome to Brecon!' and toward a small village. Ten or so Death Eaters followed her.

"I don't trust him," a man hissed from her side.

"Enough of your school-boy grudges, Severus," Lord Voldemort hissed.

"He will betray us!" Snape hissed back.

"Enough!" she snapped.

"Yes, My Lord," Snape cowered while some of the other Death Eaters snickered.

"Now," Voldemort said. "Go and draw them out."

"Yes, My Lord," Avery said and the black robed figures descended on the town. Lord Voldemort stood on a hill outside of it and observed as the chaos erupted. She closed her eyes after a few moments and even in the memory Harry could feel the magic billowing around her.

After about a half hour of chaos, of screams, of fires, of giants appearing and tossing whole trees through buildings, her eyes shot open and at a specific house in the village. Black smoke billowed around her and she seemed to evaporate into it and shoot toward the house.

She reformed inside of it and immediately stunned Peter.

"Hello James. Lily," she said softly.

"Reducto!" James yelled. Lord Voldemort slashed it away with her wand.

"Now now. I'm just here to talk," Lord Voldemort said. She lowered her black hood and smiled at James and Lily. And in an instant, Harry saw Lord Voldemort wash away and Emily Price stand there. And he saw his father hesitate with his next spell.

"And we're supposed to believe that?" James hissed.

"Well, you're not dead," Emily said. "And I haven't even tried to harm you yet."

"You attacked Peter," Lily said. Harry stepped away from Emily and toward his mother. He walked around her, taking in every inch of her, and staring into his eyes on her face. Before turning to face his father, wondering just how similar he'd look to that man in the next decade.

"He surprised me," Emily shrugged. "I could have killed him. I decided not to."

"So, we're supposed to just trust you then?" James asked.

"Only if you're considerably dumber than I thought," Emily said.

"What do you want?" Lily spat.

"I want to discuss your futures," Emily said.

"What could we possibly want to do with you?" James asked. They were both holding their wands on her. But neither of them looked remotely close to casting a spell. Harry wondered if they were simply afraid of what would happen if they did.

"You know I'm right," Emily said.

"Hardly," James spat.

"I wasn't talking to you," Emily responded, her eyes fixing on Lily.

"What are you talking about?" Lily asked.

"You know that I'm right," Emily reiterated. "More so than James. He's never really spent any time among them. Only that lunch you dragged him to with your sister and her fiancé. Perhaps they would have been less vile had James not thought pranking them was a good idea."

"How do you know about that?" James scowled. He shifted his body between Emily and Lily, shielding her from what he suspected was to come.

"Why is it," Emily sighed. "That when Dumbledore knows things he shouldn't people shrug it off. But when I do everyone freaks out?"

"Because Dumbledore isn't evil," Lily said. "He's a kind and caring old man who just wants to make the world a better place."

"Oh yes, so kind," Emily scoffed. "So caring. So considerate of all of those around him. Dumbledore has never cared for anyone other than himself. Oh, and perhaps Grindelwald."

"You lie," James said.

"If he cares so much about you, about those who die for him, then he has a very horrible way of protecting his troops. I realized after the war he saw other wizards as fodder for his ideals," Emily said.

"And you don't?" Lily laughed.

"Well I don't sacrifice mine willfully, for starters. And I also don't ask pregnant women to fight my battles for me," Emily said.

"What?" James asked.

"She hasn't told you yet?" Emily frowned and looked at Lily. "I'm sorry did I ruin the surprise?"

"I…How…..I…" Lilly stuttered. Harry swallowed hard and found his eyes shifting toward his mother's midsection. It was a very strange feeling to know that some form of him, some minor, tiny, bit, was growing inside of the remarkably young-looking redhead before him. Somehow, in his mind, his parents had always been older than that. But now, as he stared at them, he realized how truly young they were. They were, he knew, only five years older than he was. And really, that didn't seem like a very long time.

"What is she saying, Lily," James asked. He almost turned to face his wife. But when he realized that Emily was leaving his line of sight his vision snapped back to her, his wand leveling on her once more.

"I'm pregnant, James," Lily sighed.

"I…I…" James stammered. His eyes flashed with a momentarily blissful happiness. But then they focused back on Emily.

"I'll give you two a minute, if you want to hug her," Emily said, lowering her own wand. James frowned in confusion but didn't move to his wife.

"Please James," Lily said, wrapping her arms around herself and looking quite cold and small.

"Oh Lily," James rushed over to her and swept her into his arms. Emily leaned against the wall and watched as they embraced. After a moment she turned her attention to her nails, mostly to just not look at them.

"James, I was going to tell you sooner. But this mission came up and I didn't want to abandon you for it and I knew you'd never let me go," Lily said. Harry noticed they were both crying as they hugged each other. It lasted for about two minutes. Before Emily interrupted.

"Can we get back to the matter at hand now?" Emily asked.

"And I haven't even really found a doctor yet, and it's all knew. And there's a war going on and I was frightened," Lily said to James, ignoring Emily.

"Healer Patel was excellent with mine. Now, again, matter at hand?" Emily asked.

"Wait, what?" Lily asked.

"Healer Patel. She's still at St. Mungo's. She's excellent," Emily said.

"How would you know?" James growled at her. Emily just raised her brows and stared at him for a few seconds.

"Oh," Lily frowned. Then looked at Emily and whispered. "What happened?"

"She died," Emily said.

"I'm sorry," Lily said.

"No. You aren't," Emily said. Lily frowned and hid behind James.

"Yes I am," Lily muttered quietly. "I can't even imagine that and-"

"And you still threw yourself into battle, thus risking the life of the child inside of you," Emily countered.

"What do you want?" James asked.

"You two," Emily said.

"That won't ever happen," James said.

"Perhaps," Emily said. "But you know I'm right. You know the muggles do not deserve the sway they have. You know that we shouldn't be hiding from them. You know that the old ways are working less and less efficiently as time passes."

"We can live just fine without them knowing about us," James said.

"But they do know about us," Emily laughed. "Do you think Petunia and Vernon don't know? Do you think they keep secrets? Do you think they won't eventually find a way to control us if we do not do it first?"

"They're not that creative," James said.

"You're wrong. They're quite creative and outnumber us by a considerable margin," Emily said.

"You're just fear mongering," Lily sighed. "There's little chance of any of that ever happening."

"I hope so," Emily said. "But I'd rather be prepared than not. And you two would be the perfect face for it all. You could succeed where I failed. You could make the world a better place than even Dumbledore had ever imagined."

"Unfortunately, we don't agree on what makes the world better," James said.

"Yet," Emily responded.

"We will never share your views," Lily said.

"Think about it," Emily said. "Have your child and think about he or she growing up in a world where they have to hide what they are. A world where his aunt and uncle detest him for what he is. A world where her grandparents never really accept her for what she is. A world where he's always ostracized purely because of what he can do. Reflect on that, Potters. And then get back to me."

"Never," James said, fiercely.

"We'll see," Emily said. And she turned and walked out of the house. Harry gave his parents one last look as they embraced each other once more, trying to savor every memory of them he could see. At least until the memories forced him to follow Emily out of the house and away from the city. She walked into a field and he heard hundreds of cracks of apparition around her. She spun around and took it all in.

There were at least fifty members of the Order of the Phoenix surrounding her. Five or six Death Eaters were being held captive by some of them as they swarmed around her.

"It's over, Miss Riddle," Dumbledore said, stepping out from between a younger McGonagall and a couple of wizards Harry didn't recognize. Emily's face twitched.

"This is your best shot?" Emily asked as she turned to face Dumbledore.

"You can't possibly win," Dumbledore said. "We've taken precautions against magical methods of escape. You're stuck here."

"I doubt that very much," Emily said. Harry could see the magic starting to swirl around her, the purple and green aura billowing against the wind in the field.

"There is no reason to fight, Miss Riddle," Dumbledore said.

"That's not my name," Emily responded.

"Come quietly," Dumbledore said. "It's over. I assure you that you and your followers will be treated fairly. But this is the end of the line. There's no reason to force more bloodshed for a losing cause."

"I agree," Emily said. "Nice of you to bring everyone here to see me. After how hard you've worked to keep their identities a secret. Having this be your final gambit seems uncharacteristic. Who's pushing for it? Crouch? Moody?"

"The ministry is not involved in this," Dumbledore said.

"Right you didn't bring any aurors," Emily laughed.

"Last chance, Miss Riddle. Come with me now or there will be violence," Dumbledore said.

"For the last time, Albus," Emily said, raising her wand to the air. The magical aura surrounding her billowed up into it and then she slashed it through the air around her. "That isn't my name!"

The magic that shot out from her was like nothing he'd ever felt before. No. That wasn't true. It was exactly like the shockwave she'd used on him in Chicago. But a hundred, maybe a thousand times more powerful. It blasted out from around her and hit the Order of the Phoenix members that encircled her.

Some of them, Harry knew, died immediately on impact, bones shattering from the force of the magic, bodies falling in unnatural ways. But that was a very small minority. Most just found themselves thrown back and to the ground, forced down by the overwhelming power that lingered in the air around them. She summoned the captured Death Eaters to her and disappeared in a smoky mist once more.

And with that, Harry returned to the present. He put the book down pressed his face into Hermione's hair. Emily had wanted to recruit his parents? That seemed like such a strange concept. Had she actually thought that they'd want to be the face of a pro-magic movement?

Or was it something more sinister? Had she simply wanted to plant doubts in their heads. Doubts about Dumbledore, about the order, about his relatives, about everything. Either way, at first glance, it didn't seem like it had worked.

Of course, and Harry couldn't help but frown as the thought creeped into his head, she'd been exactly correct about his relatives. They were afraid of him, afraid of what he could do, and had done everything in their power, short of murder, to stomp it out of him before he could mature into a wizard.

And yet he'd been left there. From the brief conversation it sounded like there was at least some contact between Lily and Petunia. They'd gone out as a foursome at least once. But just what was that relationship. With how Petunia treated him he couldn't imagine it was cordial. Was it perhaps just a vain attempt from one sister to bring the other back into her life?

In the end, he decided he was too tired and too dazed to think about it at that moment. So instead he let himself drift off to sleep.

The routine continued for the remainder of the semester. Harry let the normalcy of it take over his thoughts. He devoted himself more to the new meetings of Dumbledore's Army than to his upcoming exams. He didn't find himself that concerned with them.

It annoyed Hermione that he wasn't very interested in studying. But whenever she asked him a question about anything she thought was going to be on the examinations, he was able to answer it without much thought. Which seemed to annoy her more.

Really, the only time she wasn't hassling him about it was when she'd join him for diary viewings. Which seemed to be more often than not. But as the exams drew closer, she grew less interested in the diary and more in simply sleeping. Harry didn't argue with her.

Deep down he knew he was playing with fire. But no one ever caught them. Hermione said she waited until the other girls in her dormitory were asleep before she snuck out, or simply came straight back after her prefect patrols, and she was up and gone well before him every day, preferring to rise rather early.

He didn't know how Ron would react. But still, it wasn't like they ever did anything. They just slept. Or watched someone else's memories. Everything they did was completely innocent.

But if that was true then why was he worried about being caught?

It wasn't worth worrying about. If it happened, it happened. It was more annoying that Percy kept finding him, nearly daily, and insisting he come to the ministry. Fred, George, and the map proved to be quite useful for his general avoidance of Percy.

Still, before he knew it the year was almost over. Which meant he was running out of excuses for going with Percy. And it seemed like the young professor was biding his time by this point. But Harry would deal with that bridge when it came.

The night before his exams he decided to head to bed early, leaving Fred and George's end of Hogwarts party earlier than the twins were overly happy with. He changed into his pajamas, grabbed the diary, and crawled into bed. He frowned down at the battered book. He knew he was near the end of it. But he also knew how it ended. He didn't know if he wanted to watch it. But eventually, curiosity won out and he stared down at the final pages of the book.

He watched her walk up the path of a crowded street. Children ran around her, all dressed in various costumes. She moved around the kids and parents as they walked from house to house. They all seemed to ignore one specific house. So, she turned up the path toward it.

Harry stood on the cobblestone pathway and stared up at the two-story stone house. A short wrought iron fence blocked the pathway, but Emily had simply floated over it, and Harry simply walked through it. Hedges lined the well-kept yard.

Emily paused at the door. She lowered her hood and stared at it. Harry could see her hesitating. She wasn't quite sure exactly what she was going to accomplish. Again, Harry thought she looked tired. She closed her eyes. Harry heard someone speaking around them.

The words were soft and ethereal in the memory. Snape's voice reciting a prophecy. Stating that the one who would defeat her was born to people who had defied her, and born at the end of July. And, eventually, that it was little Harry Potter. And that little Harry and James Potter didn't deserve to live. Because they would be nothing but trouble.

He could feel Emily's annoyance at that. And felt it even more when Snape started to discuss that with the rest of the Death Eaters as well. About how their master didn't think she could beat James Potter and a baby.

And then when others started questioning it, in whispers, to start, but still questioning it. She knew her hand was already forced. She took a deep breath before lifting it and placing it on the door of the house. The hinges started to melt away and with a quick blast of magic she blew it inside the house.

"Run Lily!" James yelled, he had his wand in hand in an instant and was firing spells off at Emily. "Get Harry!"

"This is unnecessary," Emily scoffed and deflected his spells away with little effort. Harry took a deep breath and followed her into the house. He heard her talking, but the words went straight through him.

Instead tears filled up in his eyes as he watched his father. He knew that they were talking as he fought. He knew that Emily was pleading with him about joining her. And he knew that she was making it an ultimatum. And he knew that James refused time and time again.

Harry felt a growing pride as James dueled her to a standstill. For the briefest of moments he thought that his father was dueling her better than anyone he'd seen. And then, as if she turned on a switch, it was over.

Harry saw the surprise in his father's eyes as she weaved through his spells. And then she knocked him back mid spell, and then slashed her wand down, the killing curse flying from it and hitting him square in the chest.

James fell in the center of the room. Harry fell next to him, tears straining his face. He reached out to try to at least touch his father. But his hand went right through the body. Bile rose up in his throat as he stared at his father. He didn't want to see this. He wanted to harm the person who caused this. He clenched his hand into a fist and looked upward as Emily stepped up the stairs. The memory pulled him away from his father and forced him to follow her.

Still, he fought to head back to James, to see James, to be with his father in any way he could. But the memory pulled him up the stairs. He heard his mother yelling. But he wasn't in the room to see what happened.

Lord Voldemort gave Lily a much shorter leash than she had James. A flash of green billowed through the hallway mere moments after she entered. Harry heard something heavy hit the ground and swallowed hard as he stepped through the wall and into the room.

He was audibly crying. He paused. He was crying, but it wasn't him. Baby him was crying. But no that still wasn't right. He was crying too, but silently. Baby him was sitting in his crib, reaching out toward Lily, and screaming. Harry looked down as Lord Voldemort stepped around his dead mother and moved toward the crib.

Harry looked down at his mother. She was face down on the floor and not moving, her hair fanned out around her. Voldemort didn't spare her another glance. Instead she stepped toward the crib. Harry swallowed hard, fighting against the bile threatening in his throat once more. He knew what was coming. And he didn't want to see it.

But then she surprised him. She reached toward the crib and lifted him out of it. Harry watched as Lord Voldemort cradled him in her arms.

"Shhh," she whispered and rocked him. "It's alright little Harry. It's time to sleep."

One year old him looked curiously at her and made some squawking noises somewhere between a cry and an attempt at words. Baby him stared at her as his eyes started to droop.

Fifteen-year-old him stared at her, his mind a mix of confusion and anger as she cradled him. For the first time since the end of the Triwizard Tournament he wanted to reach out and strangle her. He'd always known this was coming. But seeing it made it all real. He'd been able to separate the Emily that teased him, fed him, clothed him, and seemed concerned for him from the Lord Voldemort that had ruined his life.

But here it was before him. She'd killed his parents for no real reason other than they wouldn't follow with her vision. And, because Snape had told her he could defeat her. Somehow, that had altered her views enough to just determine it was time to end it.

Still, he'd seen her commit murders like this before. And this was the only one that she'd ever gone to alone. Normally she'd put on a bit of a show. But here she'd just gone and done it by herself. He wondered just what her reasoning was for that.

It took her about ten minutes to calm him down. She whispered to him the entire time, until he fell asleep in her arms. She placed him down in his crib and adjusted his blanket before pulling her wand out.

Harry watched as a too familiar purple and green magic swirled around her wand hand. She frowned down at the baby in the crib.

"You deserved better. This is such a waste," she whispered. And then she leaned toward the crib and placed her lips on his forehead, directly over where his scar would one day be. "Good night, Harry Potter."

And then she stood up over the crib and looked down at his sleeping form. She leveled her wand on him. The purple and green magic following her hand. It reached out and seemed to almost caress him, to trace around his forehead. Harry swallowed hard as he knew exactly what was coming,

The green light flew out of her wand and shot directly into his forehead and everything exploded. He felt himself thrown from the diary, he felt a searing pain shoot through his scar, as if it were being reopened, and then through his head, he felt the entire world end in shades of purple and green.

He came back slowly, gagging into his own mouth, sitting up on his bed. The world spun around him as he tried to get up. The pain still searing through his scar. His thoughts were nothing but a jumbled mess as he tried to get out of the bed.

Had that been her plan? Some sort of an attack at the end? The pain in his head just continued to well, it controlled all of his emotions. He couldn't think of anything past it. He could feel his dinner coming up. He couldn't focus, he couldn't see, he couldn't do anything.

Somehow, he made it to the bathroom. He vomited into the toilet once, then twice, gagging against it all, coughing and trying to brush it out of his face before more came up.

"You okay, Harry?" Dean said from the doorway.

"Fine," Harry gagged again as more of his dinner came up.

"You sure?" Ron said from the doorway as well.

"Fine," he gagged once more. His voice

"Yeah you don't look fine. And you were screaming before you ran into the bathroom," Ron said.

"I'll be okay," Harry said.

"I'm going to go get someone," Ron said. "Make sure he doesn't die."

"Will do," Dean said.

"I'm fine," Harry gagged again. He rested his head against the toilet after a moment and groaned. His voice sounded weird even to himself. It seemed raspy and like he couldn't put any emphasis behind the words. He heard Ron leave and heard Dean pace near the door. But he was too focused on the growing pain in his head and the empty feeling in his stomach to worry anything else.

"What's wrong?" a soft voice said from the doorway. Harry tried to speak up but no words came.

"He woke up screaming," Dean said. "And then he ran into the bathroom and started vomiting."

"Oh," Hermione said. She stepped over toward him and sank down on the floor next to him. "Can you grab me a wash cloth, Dean?"

"Sure," Dean said. He grabbed her one from the small closet the house elves restocked daily and walked over to hand it to her.

"Thanks," she said. "Ron went to get Madame Pomfrey. You can go back to bed I'll make sure he's okay."

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Hermione said.

"Okay, well, grab us if he needs anything," Dean said.

"I will," Hermione said. She waited for Dean to leave and then pulled Harry down onto the floor. His head wound up in her lap.

"I'm fine," he muttered once more.

"No, you aren't," Hermione said. She magically dampened the cloth and started to brush it gently over his face. "But you will be soon. You finally reached the end, didn't you?"

"Yes," he groaned as the memory sent another surge of disgust through him. He shot up again, but the feeling passed as the bathroom spun around him. The pain ricocheting behind his eyes forced him back down, his head landing harder than he intended in her lap.

"Ouch," she said.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"It's okay," she said softly. Her thumb brushed a strand of hair off of his forehead before she continued to dab at him with the warm cloth. She was quiet then. Harry closed his eyes and tried desperately to stop his body from shaking, to get the pain out of his head, to feel anything closer to normal.

He couldn't focus. He could feel the cloth on him, and that was nice. But that was all that he could really focus on in reality. Instead he saw images of his mother and his father laying dead before him. He saw images of curses hitting himself. Images of himself dead. And then his parents dead again, the house crumbling around them.

The images wouldn't leave his head. And that made his head spin more and more and that just made it hurt more. At some point Pomfrey looked at him. He vaguely remembered hearing himself refuse to go to the hospital wing. She argued with him and eventually settled on a couple of potions and him checking in in the morning.

Harry wasn't sure just how the conversation went, or just how the nurse eventually caved. But he suspected Ron and Hermione had something to do with it. He thought he heard excuses about stress of upcoming exams worked in there. He tried to mutter that he wasn't worried about those, but no one seemed to be listening to him. Eventually they helped him to bed.

He lay there in the dark of the dormitory as the potion dulled the ache in his head. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. He closed his eyes mostly to see if that made him feel more human. It didn't, but his eyes felt heavy and impossible to open as he sat there.

Eventually he felt more weight sink onto his mattress. He heard Hermione's soft voice mutter a silencing charm under her breath, and he heard the curtains close around them. And then the back of her hand was on his forehead, as if checking for a temperature.

"Hey," he whispered, realizing that his slow breathing and closed eyes likely gave the illusion of sleep.

"Did I wake you?" she whispered.

"No," he responded. "Head hurts too much to sleep."

"Just what did she do to you?" Hermione asked, her voice cracking as she spoke.

"Nothing," Harry said. Talking made the pain reverberate through his head. He just wanted to be quiet and to sleep. But deep down he knew neither option would happen.

"It's not nothing, Harry, you looked like absolute death," Hermione said.

"She tried to kill me," Harry admitted.

"How?" Hermione asked. Harry could hear her fighting to conceal the alarm in her voice. "What did she do to the diary?"

"Nothing," he said. "It was when I was a baby."

"Oh," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"You saw that?" Hermione asked.

"I felt it," Harry said.

"What?" she asked.

"When she cursed me in the memory. It, well, my scar…I don't know it like exploded," Harry said.

"Oh Harry," Hermione whispered quietly.

"And then I think everything just sort of hit me. She killed them. Like it was nothing. Like they were nothing. And then I was sick. And, and, and it's all over. There's nothing left after," Harry said.

"Harry there's plenty left. You're alive. You can live," Hermine said softly. "It's not over. They'd want you to live, to be happy."

"I know," Harry said. "But she killed them."

"I know. She's evil, Harry. She shouldn't have done that. That was wrong. You have every right to be angry with her," Hermione said.

"Angry?" Harry asked, sounding confused.

"Aren't you?" Hermione asked. Harry paused and when he answered, he didn't answer her question.

"I'm tired," he said, really realizing how heavy his limbs had become in the last few minutes.

"Oh," Hermione said. "Are you sure? There's nothing you'd like to talk about or anything?"

"Not right now," Harry said, feeling the sleep weigh down on his eyes. "I want to sleep."

"Okay," Hermione sighed. Harry could tell she wanted to pry. He could feel the tension building in her without even opening his eyes. After a few moments she let out a deep breath.

"What?" he asked.

"Are you really sure?" she asked softly. "There's nothing you want to talk about? Nothing you need?"

"Well maybe one thing," Harry whispered softly.

"Yes?" Hermione asked softly.

"Are you wearing that little nightgown?" he asked, fighting the urge to smirk because any unnecessary movement made his head hurt even more.

"Harry," Hermione groaned.

"What?" Harry asked sheepishly.

"Is it really the time for that?" she asked, sounding rather exasperated.

"Probably not," Harry admitted, feeling oddly bad for saying it. But joking made him feel closer to normal. And he desperately wanted to feel like himself now. He didn't want to think about the images he'd just seen. At least not right now. And really, he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to think about them again. Part of him had always wanted to know, but now a larger part of him wished he didn't. Still, he knew she was just concerned for him. And that she hated when he made light of her concerns. After a long moment she sighed once more.

"Would that make you feel better?" she asked quietly. She sounded incredibly unsure of herself.

"I mean it was a joke," Harry said, realizing he had no way out of this conversation. He tried to continue to voice his thoughts, but the words didn't come.

"You don't even know what I'm wearing anyway," Hermione said quietly. Again, there didn't seem to be any real confidence in her voice as she spoke. He could feel her weight shift on the bed.

"You're right. I-oh," he said. He'd opened his eyes as he spoke. She was on her hands and knees over him and was wearing a tank top and short cotton shorts and his line of sight was directly on her chest. It surprised him so much he forgot what he was going to say, or why he'd even opened his mouth in the first place.

She fell down onto him, her weight feeling rather nice and warm as it rested on him. He could feel the heat flushing through her and he knew she was blushing.

"Better than a nightgown?" she asked quietly. It took Harry longer than he cared to admit to formulate a response.

"It looks…comfortable," he said.

"It is," she responded. "But you should sleep. You look exhausted."

"I am," Harry said.

"I know," Hermione responded. "So sleep. We can talk in the morning. You'll feel better with a clear head." Harry closed his eyes. He didn't really trust her words. But somehow he knew she was right. He would probably want to talk about it in the morning, after he'd had time to compute it all.

"Hermione?" he asked quietly after a few moments of silence. He lifted his arms to wrap them around her. It took more effort than he cared to admit.

"Harry?" she responded.

"Thank you," he said. He felt like he should say more. But nothing more came. He simply let the two words linger.

"It's the least I could do," Hermione whispered. "Just like it was for you. So, thank you too, Harry. Now sleep."


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Rpeh on the beta work. Cover image done by Penny Tanous

Chapter 28

Hermione woke him early the next morning. Her mumbled excuse was that she didn't think he should wake alone. She was laying next to him when he woke, propped on her elbow with her other arm thrown across her chest.

"Hey," he said as she stopped mumbling. The pain in his head was down to a dull throb. Nothing, he figured, that a nice cup of tea couldn't help combat.

"Hey," she whispered back.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Six thirty or so," Hermione said.

"Gross," Harry said. He closed his eyes attempting to go back to sleep.

"I think you should get up," Hermione said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because I don't think passing out again will really be helpful," she said. "I mean we've got exams in a few hours and I'm sure you don't feel great. So maybe rather than sleeping until the absolute last minute and feeling like crap for the rest of the day and the exams you should get up."

"And study?" Harry groaned.

"No. Studying isn't how you decompress. That's how I cope," Hermione said.

"Wait. Did you just tell me to not study?" Harry asked, opening his eyes to stare at her to make sure he heard that right.

"Well I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to," Hermione scowled. "But, I mean, I think that you would be better served by a shower, some fresh clothing and then some breakfast. And then after that maybe just relaxing. It's a nice morning, maybe a walk. I'd suggest a few laps around the quidditch pitch but as your broom is still confiscated."

"I could borrow a school one," Harry said, his eyes perking up as if he thought that would be an incredibly good idea.

"You could. But, it would be slow and off balance and you'd hate it and be more annoyed than relaxed," Hermione said.

"I hate when you're right," Harry frowned, his expression darkening.

"No, you don't," Hermione said.

"Okay, I don't," Harry said.

"You're still going to go back to sleep, aren't you?" Hermione sighed.

"Haven't decided yet," Harry admitted.

"Am I going to have to persuade you?" Hermione said quietly. Harry blinked. The words echoed through his head. They were words he'd heard before when seeing situations similar. Those situations were often in a similar environment, but the speaker was an Emily or a Martin. And the things that it led to were not altogether appropriate.

But that brought his thoughts straight back to Emily. And he really didn't want to think about Emily in that moment. Because that made him think about his parents. So, his mind drifted away from that.

Instead he thought about the things Emily wore during those exchanges. And things she did after those exchanges. And that was an entirely more pleasant thing to think about than the other areas his head focused on.

"I certainly don't see how that would hurt," Harry said slowly. He swallowed hard when he finished speaking, part of him doubting the words as they came.

"Hmm," Hermione said. She shifted on her elbow and looked over at him. "Well I could find a way to sneak you some treacle tart for breakfast, would that be persuasive?"

"I do love treacle tart," Harry responded. "But I don't really think it'd be that good for breakfast. Never was a big fan of sweets for breakfast."

"So that's out," Hermione faked a frown and made a show of appearing to think about something for a few moments.

"Yeah, would have to be something else," Harry said.

"Just what could I do then?" Hermione asked. She was doing her best to fake confusion and Harry had to admit that, despite it being a genuinely odd look on Hermione's face, it was rather cute.

"I don't know," Harry said, trying to sound as playful as possible, wondering exactly where she was going with this. Although he certainly felt more alert in that moment than he could ever remember feeling before seven in the morning.

"Well it's hard to bribe you if you can't think of anything," Hermione said, her expression shifted to one of general amusement. Harry paused and looked at her.

You're being an idiot, the meaner voice in his head said. Harry thought for a moment, wondering just what he meant. But really, it was obvious. Here he was, laying in his bed, with a girl in her pajamas telling him she was looking for something to bribe him with. And he was coming up with absolutely nothing?

No, that wasn't true. He had plenty of ideas of what he could offer up. But he wasn't sure just how to approach that with her. He knew she was working through things. So, he didn't really want to just say something totally blunt and stupid. No, he feared that would just make her uncomfortable.

Then say something that could lead into those things, idiot. Rather than just going straight for it. Coax her.

Except that wasn't entirely true either. The bit about making her uncomfortable at least. Well, there was truth to it. But, he was holding out for something else. It wasn't Hermione he wanted asking for some ideas on what to bribe him with. Which was what was stupid. Because he wasn't ever going to get anything from that avenue. And to make it worse, she'd murdered his parents. And made him watch!

Please, she hadn't made him do anything.

Really, all she'd done was exactly what he'd asked. He said he wanted to see everything, to know everything. And she'd shown him that. The good and the bad. She'd shown him everything in the most honest way she could. And there was something to be said for that.

"I dunno," Harry shrugged as he realized Hermione was still waiting for an answer.

"You're awful at this," Hermione said. She was frowning at him.

"My head hurts," Harry admitted. And it was true. There was still a lingering throbbing in his head from the night before and it was making it rather hard to focus still. But he knew he was just using that as an excuse.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione frowned. "Should I let you sleep?"

"No," Harry sighed. "You're probably right. If I go back to bed I'll just crawl out of it by necessity around exam time and feel like utter crap for the rest of the day. If I attempt to act like a human I'll feel better by the time I need to actually be human."

"Sound logic," Hermione said rather sarcastically.

"So, I think I will take you up on the shower and the breakfast and hoping that I feel better by the time I have to take an exam," Harry said.

"I do think you'll feel better if you do so," Hermione said.

"Probably," Harry agreed as he sat up on the bed.

"So common room in twenty?" Hermione asked.

"Unless you want to join me in the shower," Harry said. He winced slightly as the words came out. Again, he meant it as more of a joke than anything else. Hermione turned a rather bright pink as soon as he said it.

"Harry!" She scolded him. The exasperated look she gave him, though, was rather adorable and he couldn't help but smile.

See, the voice said in his head. You could be quite happy with her. And she's willing enough. It might take some gentle persuasion but you could have her. Maybe not right this moment, but probably before term ended.

Harry frowned at the words ringing through his head.

He could sense the truth in them. And it was rather obvious that Hermione didn't look repulsed by his suggestion, even if it was a joke. But she was his friend. A very close friend. Possibly his best friend, depending on whatever mood Ron was in on a given day. She was pretty. Probably not top five in the year, but pretty enough. Although, perhaps just like Emily she was likely destined to be more of a Mary or an Elizabeth rather than a Jane.

Wait. He didn't understand that reference. Sure he did. He'd read the book. Well, not that he remembered. And Hermione had talked about it after one of her letters home, remember? Not really. When she went on about some guy coming out of a lake on a show her mother taped? You had to explain to Ron how a VHS worked and you realized you have no idea how a VHS actually works?

Right, well, anyway, she was loyal, kind, caring, loving…

All of which are fantastic traits to find in a lover.

…And she was a close friend. She was practically a sister to him.

No. If he really saw her like that he wouldn't flirt with her. Even though he only did it to tease her, because he knew it would push her buttons. Because, if he was honest, he liked seeing her in situations she wasn't completely comfortable in. It amused him.

But it amused him because he found it cute. And that had very little to do with her being a friend. No, his reasons for that were far more selfish and he knew it. He liked when he thought she was cute. And that was all there was to it.

Still, he didn't really want to do anything that would jeopardize what they had. Yes, he found her annoying from time to time. And yes, he thought she should probably devote some of her time to actually doing rather than studying. And yes, he tuned out most of her lectures. But he still felt like he could confide in her when things were bad. He still thought she would give honest advice to anything he asked, and he still liked being around her, joking with her, and having her around.

And if their relationship were to change. Well, was it worth it? If they found they weren't compatible? If they fought? If they ended up mad at each other to the point where they never spoke again? Why would he jeopardize that? He didn't want things to change. He liked that Hermione was his friend. And he wanted to always be her friend. And he'd seen enough Hogwarts flings, or crushes, or whatever people called them now, turn into completely broken relationships. He desperately didn't want them to wind up like that.

That's the school yard, though. Not the world.

Except was that really the case? Was all of that just magnified because they were kids? Because they didn't really understand their emotions? Because there was more lust than anything else in their actions? Harry didn't know. Even though he suspected that there was some truth in that line of thinking.

Certainly, he'd known Hermione for five years. He'd watched her grow, both mentally and physically, into a bright young witch. He understood her and she understood him. They'd reacted instinctually when they needed each other. They'd known it without even needing to voice it.

Love, he thought, doesn't come out of blushing and giggling and exchanging notes through friends about whether or not you like someone. No, it grew through years of shared experiences, years of understanding, years of closeness. It sprouted up where it wasn't always expected. And he loved Hermione.

It was a silly to even think about that. Of course he loved Hermione. There was never any doubt there. He loved Ron, too. He'd have thrown himself in front of a curse for either of them. There wasn't any doubt in his mind. That didn't mean it wasn't the same. Right?

Wrong. Totally not the same.

"What?" Harry blinked and hoped he hadn't been lost in thought for too long. Hermione had managed to grab his pillow and was hugging it tightly to her body as she sat on his bed.

"Is that what you want?" she asked quietly. Harry stared at her for a moment.

"Well I mean," he said after composing his thoughts. "It would be fun. But I'm pretty sure I'd disappoint you. And that would be embarrassing."

"How's that?" she asked

"I'm kind of out of it," he admitted. "And I'm pretty sure as soon as I get into the water I'm just going to stand there like a zombie."

"Oh," she said. She was still flushed a deep pink as she looked away from him, pressing her face into his pillow as she clutched it to her.

"So common room in twenty?" he asked.

"Sure," she said.

"Awesome," he said. And then he gave her a hug before he stepped into the bathroom connected to the boy's dormitory.

He languished in the water for longer than he probably should have. His mind telling him that he should have just said yes. That was what he wanted. And filling with images of things he could have done with her in the shower. Things he wasn't even quite sure how to do, but his mind didn't care for that detail.

Of course, his mind also shifted from a sixteen year old Hermione into a sixteen year old someone else. And he found himself shifting between the two, wanting to give far more attention to one than the other. Which, deep down, he knew was incredibly stupid.

Especially with what he'd seen. That other someone was the cause of his misery. That other someone couldn't have possibly cared for him. She would never put herself out there for him as Hermione was already doing. She would never do something for him. That didn't suit her motives.

He knew all of that. And he'd watched her inflict the misery upon him. He watched her murder. So why did he want her? What did that say about him? And why did he want her more than the girl he could have likely had?

Eventually, thinking about that ceased to be fun and just made his head hurt more, which was the exact opposite of what he'd hoped for when he decided to get out of bed. So he stepped from the shower and rejoined Hermione in the empty common room.

"People really don't wake up early, do they?" he asked as he ran a hand through his damp hair.

"No," she said a little stiffly. "I usually get a few hours of studying alone in before anyone else even stumbles down to breakfast."

"Do they serve this early?" he asked.

"You can eat as early as five," she answered. "It's in _Hogwarts, A History._ "

"Of course," Harry said.

"Shall we?" she asked. He took a moment to look at her. She was dressed normally in her school uniform, but she seemed oddly tense. He frowned at her and shook his head.

"Not yet," he said and stepped up to her. She raised her brows at him and then he just hugged her, tightly, squeezing her body to his and pressing his face into his hair, letting his lips press against her head. She squirmed against him at first, but eventually settled into the hug and held him back, her body relaxing gradually against his.

"Better?" she asked.

"I've thought about what you can bribe me with," he said.

"What's that?" she asked.

"In our gap today, between dinner and our Astronomy exam, I want to cuddle," Harry said.

"Okay," she said with a deep breath.

"Okay," he responded and let his arms slide off of her. "Now I need to eat something."

"And stop by the nurse so she sees your alive," Hermione added.

"And that," Harry sighed, realizing he'd totally forgotten about Pomfrey's visit the previous evening.

And all in all, he figured, his day went fairly well. Pomfrey made him take a few more potions, including something that finally eliminated the last vestiges of his headache, and then breakfast was as good as ever.

After he helped Hermione cram for Arithmancy. It wasn't until he was leaving the Transfiguration written exam, well before every student, excluding Hermione and Terry Boot, had finished their exam, that he realized he shouldn't have really been able to help Hermione with Arithmancy, as he'd never taken it before.

But he pushed that thought from his head during the Herbology practical as, while zoning out, he nearly lost a finger to a plant. In fact, he probably would have lost the finger if he hadn't blasted the plant with magic from his palm. The examiner blinked at him when he did that, but Harry just shrugged and finished pruning it quickly.

After dinner, he and Hermione did sneak up to his dormitory and spooned under the invisibility cloak. He spent the time before their Astronomy practical in a wonderful, warm, half-sleep induce haze where his only real thought was wondering if Hermione was wiggling like that against him intentionally.

Unfortunately for his academic pursuits, that thought lingered through the exam. He would catch bits of her perfume as the wind shifted while they worked in the tower, and that would pull his mind straight back to bed. He spent too much time wondering if she'd join him again that evening.

Thankfully, once she finished her work he was able to focus again and finish his. He and Ron ended up done at nearly the same time and stepped out of the tower together. Hermione was waiting for them in the landing.

She didn't say anything about the exam, instead she just walked between the two of them. They were alone in the hall, moving slowly back to their common room, when Percy Weasley and his Auror stepped around a corner and started walking toward them.

All three of them instinctually reached for the after-hours pass the students received after the Astronomy practical. But Percy just smiled at them. Harry immediately noticed that both Percy and the Auror had their wands in hand.

"Mister Potter! I've heard you completed most of your exams today. You've been a hard man to track down these last couple of weeks. I think now would be a splendid time for you to join me at the ministry," Percy said.

No. A voice said in his head.

"He has more exams tomorrow," Hermione said. "And he needs to sleep."

"Why do you want him to go so badly," Ron said. "It's nearly midnight anyway."

"Politics never sleeps, Ronald. And Harry agreed to help me. Now is when I'm asking for him to stick to his word," Percy said.

No.

"Did you really, Harry?" Ron asked, looking a bit confused.

"I mean I agreed so he'd shut up," Harry said. "And it worked for like two months. I never had any actual intention of going."

"A man should always keep his word, Mister Potter," Percy said.

Don't go.

"Coming from a politician? Hilarious," Harry retorted and continued walking down the hall, glaring at Percy as he walked by. He could hear the Percy and the auror grumble back and forth, but he couldn't pick up the words clearly. Harry took ten steps before Percy spoke again.

"We have your Godfather," Percy said. Harry stopped.

"What?" he asked, turning to face the ministry official.

"We have Sirius Black," Percy said. "We caught him trying to sneak into the Department of Mysteries. You know, the corridor where we caught my own father as well? Why he would be so recklessly stupid is beyond me. But we have him."

"And?" Harry said coldly.

They don't. They can't. He's hidden. Stay at school.

"And if you don't come with me. I guarantee you that he won't last the night. The only reason Minister Fudge hasn't had him kissed yet is because I persuaded him that he might be of use to us," Percy said, his expression quickly becoming smug.

"No!" Hermione gasped. "He's innocent!"

"Doubtful," Percy said.

"It was Scabbers!" Ron said.

"Oh yes, that fanciful excuse for losing my pet rat," Percy rolled his eyes.

"Let me get this straight," Harry said coldly. "You are holding Sirius Black at the Ministry of Magic to lure me there to do something for Fudge."

"If you come with me, nothing will happen to Mister Black," Percy nodded.

It's a bluff. A ruse. Don't go with him. Shut up. I have to. Even if it's a ruse I can't take that chance. He'd do the same for me. Even if other people would never think of doing the same thing for me.

"And if I don't you'll take the soul of an innocent man who never even received a trial?" Harry said.

"Minister Fudge does want the problem dealt with quickly," Percy said.

"So you are threatening me, by using the soul of the closest living thing I have to a parent as bait to get what you want," Harry said.

"It will be quick, Harry. Just come with us."

"Oh no," Hermione said, her eyes focusing on Harry as his hands clenched into fists.

"One crucial error, Percy," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Oh?" Percy laughed. "What's that?"

"There's no reason for me to not just take you out and go save him," Harry said. The Auror drew his wand back but with a flick of Harry's wrist Hogwarts obeyed him. A suit of armor nearby swung it's axe and knocked the man to the ground before toppling on him, pinning him there.

"Why are we attacking my brother?" Ron yelled, leveling his wand on Percy as he turned to run. Harry lifted his own arm and thought of what he could do to stop him. But Hermione's stunning spell shot out first and nailed Percy in the back. He fell forward onto his face and slid across the floor until a wall stopped him. Harry glared at her, spells far more heinous than a stunner slipping from his mind, as she tucked her wand back into her pocket. But then Sirius came to the forefront of his thoughts.

"I have to get to the ministry," he said. Please don't, his mind whispered, but he shut it away. Ron walked over to Percy and pressed his fingers to his brother's neck. After a few moments he nodded and started to rummage through the pockets.

"I know," Hermione said. "But I don't know how we can do so fast enough."

"His floo," Ron said, holding up the keys to Percy's office. He gave his brother a disgusted look before returning to Harry and Hermione.

"I should go alone," Harry said.

"Not a chance," Ron said. "We like Sirius too. We're all going."

"Fine," Harry said knowing full well he would just lose precious time if he argued with them. He turned down the hallway toward where he knew Percy's office was. "Let's go."

Lord Voldemort waited on the edge of the forest. She stared up at the moon in the sky while Malfoy and Avery argued about the Ballycastle Bats decision to throw a lot of money at an old Irish beater rather developing their young player. Both men seemed to think that they were failing miserably at addressing other areas of the team.

While quidditch talk was absolutely mind-numbing to her. There was no reason to silence them. So, she let them drone on and on while she waited. Severus was late. She did not like lateness.

Eventually, she saw a cloaked figure exit the castle and move toward them. She stepped into the forest, gesturing for Avery and Malfoy to stay where they were, and waited for Snape to join her. Eventually, she heard the noises of his boots on the leaves behind her.

"My ring?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Here," he said, tossing it to her. She caught it with magic and it fell gently into her hand. The Gaunt seal on it repulsed her. She knew it was better where she'd left it, better buried with the remains of the Gaunts than out in the world. But Dumbledore hadn't allowed for that. The stupid man probably thought it was one of her horcruxes.

"Very good," she said, slipping it onto her right ring finger. "I was worried that he'd taken it with him."

"No Master," Snape said. "It just took until the Weasley boy was at the school for the gargoyle to let anyone into the office."

"Well, I can't fault it for disliking that Umbridge woman," Voldemort said.

"Perhaps not," Snape responded.

"Where is the boy?" Voldemort asked.

"Undoubtedly sleeping," Snape said. Voldemort twitched.

"The ministry is planning to ambush and frame him. I need to know he didn't fall directly into their trap," Voldemort said, knowing that he already had.

"I don't see why that concerns you," Snape said.

"You do not need to see. You simply need to do as you are told. Now where is the boy?" Voldemort asked.

"I could not find him in the castle," Snape said. "I am sure he is in his dormitory sleeping after his Astronomy final."

"No, you're not," Emily said, seeing into the man's mind. "You let him go."

"I couldn't have stopped him if I wanted to," Snape spat. At least he didn't bother denying it still.

"You know what they threatened him with. You could have easily proven or disproven it," Voldemort scoffed. "You really are pathetic."

"How dare you," Snape said. "After all I've done for you, how dare you."

"For me? Don't pretend like you did any of it for me. You did it for your childish grudge against James Potter. You did it because you were too stupid to win Lily Evans. And now you're too much of a failure to help her child," Voldemort laughed.

"You don't deserve to speak her name! You killed her!" Snape said.

"You killed her by thinking your pathetic scheme would simply eliminate James and Harry. Do you honestly think she would have fallen for you after that? Joined right up with the branded cow who's master murdered her family?" Voldemort laughed at the absurdity of it.

"She always loved me. He just..He…He was.." Snape stammered with rage.

"A thousand times a better person than you? Yes. He was. Why don't we ask her to confirm that?" Voldemort said. She closed her eyes and twisted the ring on her finger. When she opened them, Lily Evans stood between her and Snape. It surprised Voldemort that she looked older than her. Perhaps, she'd just forgotten how to be young. She'd always been well Lily's senior. But now she was closer to a contemporary, at least in age, to the shade before her.

Lily turned to face Voldemort, a look of shocked pain on her face.

"You," she growled.

"Me," Voldemort nodded. Lily looked ready to attack her. But then she paused and furrowed her brows.

"But you must know. Certainly, you know what using that ring means. You've used it before. You're too intelligent to be unaware of the cost," she said.

"I am perfectly aware," Voldemort responded. "But perhaps before we discuss that, you'd rather talk to him?"

"To who?" Lily turned and saw Severus Snape.

"Lily," Snape gasped.

"Oh. Him," Lily crossed her arms over her chest. "No I don't really want to talk to him."

"Oh Lily! You've come back to me?" Snape ran toward her. Lily sidestepped out of his grasp and he wound up hugging Lord Voldemort.

"Let go," Voldemort said icily. Snape jumped back and turned his attention back to Lily as Voldemort brushed off her robe.

"Lily!" Snape gasped, falling to his knees before her. "How is this possible?"

"Get up," Lily snapped.

"What?" Snape asked.

"You expect me to buy this?" Lily asked.

"Buy what?" Snape asked.

"This sad lover schtick. It's pathetic. You're pathetic," Lily said.

"But I do love you, Lily," Snape said.

"No, you don't," Lily said. "I could have perhaps believed it until you ignored my son and instead cradled my dead body as if we'd ever been that intimate. But every one of your actions since then have not been the actions of a man who loved me."

"What?" Snape asked.

"Only to flee when Hagrid showed up. You couldn't even try to help him as a baby. And then you just got worse," Lily spat.

"What are you talking about?" Snape asked.

"I watched you torment my son! For years! Did you think that was the best way to love me? To humiliate my son? To make him just as miserable as my vile sister and her imbecilic husband?" Lily spat.

"I did no such thing," Snape gasped.

"Curse him," Lily said.

"Crucio," Voldemort said. Snape screamed and fell to the ground. Voldemort didn't lift the curse until Lily gave her a nod.

"Why?" Snape gasped.

"Because you're worthless. I hate you more than the woman who murdered me. You failed me in every single possible way. Because you are a miserable excuse for a human being," Lily said.

"What did I do to you?" he asked.

"I've already told you. You tormented my son. You took out your own failures on an elven year old boy because he looked like a man who was better than you in every conceivable way," Lily said.

"James Potter was-" Snape snapped. Lily nodded again.

"Crucio," Voldemort said.

"Do. Not. Speak. About. My. Husband," Lily said. When she finished Voldemort lifted the curse.

"He. He…" Snape gasped against the lingering pain from the curse.

"You pushed for our deaths. You literally wanted your master to kill my husband and my child so that I would love you? You are pathetic. Utterly pathetic. I can't even fathom how you think I would have ever been remotely interested in you, Sev," Lily said.

"Told you," Voldemort said. Lily's ghost glared at her and she shut her mouth quickly.

"This is just some trick, that isn't Lily," Snape growled. "Lily would never speak to me like that."

"Well the dead do always seem a little bitter," Voldemort said.

"You don't get to talk," Lily snapped. Voldemort closed her mouth again.

"You're a lie. A ruse," Snape barked at the ghost. He pulled out his wand and tried to curse her. Lily just kept her arms crossed and stared at him.

"I am dead. Because of both of you. Did you really think that would do anything?" Lily asked.

"You are not my Lily," Snape snapped.

"You're right. And I was never your Lily," Lily frowned. "That was your problem. It was always possessive. We were friends, Sev. And I would have never been more because I wanted to be mine and not yours. But you threw all that away. Because of stupid jealousy."

"How?" Snape asked.

"Because you betrayed us. And you couldn't settle for the fact that I was never going to love you. You're pathetic. I don't want to see you again," Lily said.

"No, stay," Snape gasped. "Don't leave me again, Lily."

"You still don't even get it," Lily sighed. "I never left you. You left me. And even when given a chance to prove that you were something. To prove you were anything. To prove that you loved me. You chose to torture my son rather than help him. I hate you, Severus. The only condolence is that you won't live very long and that I'm sure James will have figured out a way to torture your spirit in the afterlife if you come near either of us."

"What?" Severus looked suddenly alarmed.

"You honestly didn't think she brought you out into the forest just to have a meeting?" Lily laughed. "You don't think she knows everything? You don't think she kept you alive purely because you were useful for a time? And that your usefulness has run its course?"

"She wouldn't possibly," Snape said. "I am a valuable asset. I serve a role that no one else can fill."

"A role that your master cares less and less for. Surely you've noticed her utter indifference to it all in the last few months. But that's neither here nor there. The fact is, you failed her once again. Failed the simple task of protecting my son. You must have really hated me, that not even my spirit or Lord Voldemort could make you care for Harry Potter. And now, she's done with you," Lily said.

Snape turned to Voldemort, his wand drawn. Voldemort just slashed her hand across the air and cleaved him in two with raw force. Lily stared down at the body for a few moments, shaking her head and then looked up at Voldemort.

"You know exactly what I want from you," Lily said.

"I do," Voldemort said.

"Release me then," Lily said. Voldemort nodded and the shade of Lily Potter disappeared. She took the ring off of her finger and stared at it for a few moments. Once again, her mind was filled with the possibilities, the power, that ring could manifest. But it was not a power meant to be in this world. She knew that, she felt that as the bindings of Lily's last words closed around her. She tossed the ring into the forest, hoping that it would spend the remainder of its days being trampled deeper into the dirt.

She didn't bother to do anything about Snape's body, figuring some creature could probably use sustenance. Instead she turned and walked back toward the trees. She stepped out between Malfoy and Avery.

"Where's Snape?" Malfoy asked.

"Not joining us," Voldemort said.

"Ah," Avery said.

"Lucius, run up to the castle and use the floo to get back to your manor. Gather the sanest of my followers and join Avery and I at the Ministry of Magic," Voldemort ordered.

"My Lord, why?" Lucius asked.

"Because I'm ordering you to. Now go," Voldemort said. "Avery stay with me."

"Yes My Lord," Avery said as Lucius headed toward the castle. She moved toward the gates where she could apparate straight to the ministry. "Where are we going?"

"The ministry," she said.

"So, Rookwood was right? They're planning some type of ambush for Harry Potter?" Avery asked.

"It seems that way," she said.

"Forgive me, but why do we care?" Avery asked.

"Because the boy is mine," she snapped.

"I understand that. But if they were to remove the problem as it were," Avery said.

"There's more to it than that," she said.

"Like what?" Avery asked as they approached the gates. Voldemort sighed, but decided there was no point in hiding what she'd already heard rumblings about.

"When I failed at killing him as a baby the curse rebounded and hit me. A part of me escaped and lodged into him. I'd prefer to keep all parts of me alive, if possible," Voldemort said. "At least until I can figure out a way to remove it without killing it."

"I see," Avery said.

"So, don't harm the boy. Capture him if possible. I'll go in first. Follow after me and make sure everyone else gets the message."

"Yes, My Lord," Avery said as they stepped off of the Hogwarts grounds. She apparated away with a loud pop.

Harry Potter stepped out of the fire and into the atrium of the ministry. He was moderately surprised that there was absolutely no sign of life in the building. He frowned and looked around.

"Well that's weird," Ron said, stepping out of the fire behind him.

"Very," Harry said, looking around.

"They're probably waiting for us in that area Percy mentioned. Where they found Ron's dad," Hermione said.

"Yeah but where is that?" Ron asked.

"By the courtrooms," Harry said. "I remember the hallway from when I was here for my hearing."

"Well which way is that?" Ron asked.

"Elevator down and we'll find it eventually," Harry said. He stepped toward the elevators, holding his wand in his hand. He paused ever few steps and looked around. He got the feeling that he was being watched and it bothered him almost as much as the part of him that kept saying he should wait, or go check headquarters, or delay.

But he didn't want to delay. He wanted to find Sirius and destroy anyone responsible for taking him. And even if they didn't have Sirius there were likely to keep trying to get him to come to the ministry. He may as well figure out exactly what they wanted him here and try to use that against them in some way.

They made it to the elevator without incident. Harry entered it and stared back out at the empty atrium. He was finding the ministry was rather spooky and oddly tensee with no one there. The silence didn't suit the building. Ron and Hermione were both quiet as well, as if all of them figure that making excess noise would ruin whatever element of surprise they had.

Instead they just ignored the ambient noise of the elevator and waited as it took them to their destination. Harry stepped off first and moved toward the room where his hearing had been. About halfway there he saw the familiar corridor to the Department of Mysteries and started toward it.

The door to the department was ajar and Harry pushed it open slowly.

"Well they obviously want us to go that way," Hermione said, nodding to another open door inside the chamber.

"I feel like we shouldn't do what they want," Ron said.

"Probably not. But where else are we going to go? I can't see how these rooms would be connected," Harry said, pointing to the doors around them in the circular entry of the department.

"Hall of Prophecy?" Hermione asked, reading the plaque next to the door.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"What?" Ron asked.

"There was a prophecy about me and Voldemort," Harry said. "But Emily thinks it was already fulfilled."

"What did it say?" Ron asked.

"That I would have the power to vanquish her. Which I did. As a baby," Harry said.

"Then why isn't she gone?" Ron asked.

"Because she split her soul," Harry said as it all became clear in his mind. "She stored pieces of it in objects. That's what she was doing when you watched her kill those people."

"The ones she used to try to bring her husband back?" Ron asked.

"Yes. I don't think she wanted to do that. It just sort of was a side-effect of her failures to bring Martin back." Harry said. But somehow the words ran false in his head and a sickening thought crept to the front of his mind.

"Well maybe there's another prophecy," Hermione said.

"Or they might be hiding something in there," Ron added.

"Like that weapon the Order was talking about last summer?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe," Ron said. Harry frowned. He'd forgotten about the weapon the Order was supposedly guarding. Something that their side had that Emily said would be a great benefit to whichever side possessed it.

He'd pictured something, like a massive magical machine gun, that could tilt a battle. Sure, he knew that was stupid. But that was what he'd thought when they said weapon. But now, he frowned, anything could be a weapon. A prophecy could certainly be used against people.

But that didn't strike him as something that Emily would have been interested in attaining. She'd already said it was pointless. That it had been fulfilled. So it had to be something else. Something his side possessed that her side wanted.

His side? How had she phrased that? It was powerful and whichever side had it had an advantage. That had been what she'd said. And he'd stated that his side had it now. And she'd smirked at him, that annoyingly cute smirk where she obviously knew more than she was letting on. His side, indeed, had it. She'd been amused by that. Like he'd completely missed something. But what?

"Either way, we'll find out soon enough." Harry said, shaking that thought form his head as he stepped into the Hall of Prophecy.

His first thought was that the name made it sound a lot grander than it was. He hadn't expected just row upon row of orbs on shelves. But that's what he got. And that was rather disappointing to him.

"They've left a path," Ron said, gesturing around the room.

"I see that," Harry commented. The lighting was off in most of the hall, but for a few patches lighting their way to the far side of the hall that Harry saw was labeled with Roman numerals indicating the nineteen eighties.

They made it to the lighted section without incident. Hermione and Ron peered over the names on the prophecies as they walked past. Harry didn't bother looking at them. He focused ahead and eventually they stood under the brightest light.

"It's here," Ron said, pointing at one of the orbs. Harry just stared at it for a few moments.

"Are you going to take it?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry said quietly.

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"Because I don't care," Harry said. "And it's obvious they lured me here so that I would take it. Which means that they must not be able to do it themselves. Or that it's likely to be trapped. And there's no sign of Sirius. So, I've answered the question I wanted answered."

"We should make sure that they don't have him hidden somewhere," Ron said.

"He isn't hidden anywhere," a cold voice said from behind him. Harry turned and saw Minister Fudge standing with quite a few uniformed men. Fudge was holding his bowler hat in his hands. An older man who reminded Harry of a lion was the one who'd spoke.

"Then I'll be leaving," Harry said.

"Take the prophecy, Mister Potter," the man said again.

"Pass," Harry said. The man actually smiled.

"Mister Weasley said you were cheeky," he said. "I'll make it easier for you. Take the prophecy or you will be arrested for breaking and entering and it will just be coincidental that in our efforts to restrain you, you retrieved it for us."

"No," Harry said.

"Fine," the man said, slashing his wand at Harry much quicker than Harry would have thought possible. "Imperio!"

"That's illegal!" Hermione screamed.

"And there's two witnesses!" Ron yelled. "You'll never get away with it."

"Take the prophecy," the man said to him.

No, two voices said in unison in his head. But Harry turned toward the shelf and stared at the orb with his name on it.

"Take the prophecy and give it to me," the man said again. Harry paused but after a moment he reached out and put his hand on the orb.

"Harry fight it!" Hermione screamed.

"Don't!" Ron yelled. Harry turned and looked at them, his expression blank, doing little more than acknowledging their presence.

"Good. Take it," the man said once more. Harry looked down at his hand on the smooth prophecy. It felt so very delicate underneath his fingers. He felt the magic flare up inside of him and then he unleashed the shockwave, forcing it forward from his hand.

The prophecy shattered. Every prophecy on the shelf shattered. Every prophecy on the shelves behind it shattered. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione.

"Run!" he yelled. And they ran. Harry backpedaled to try to keep some of the wizards between he and his friends. He deflected their spells as they came.

"Where to?" Ron yelled.

"Anywhere!" Harry yelled back. "We just have to get out of here!"

"We'll never get away!" Hermione yelled. She was already panting with the exertion of a short sprint.

"I'll buy you time," Harry said. "Go."

"That's insane!" Ron said. "You're the one they want. Let us buy you time."

"Go!" Harry yelled. And they weaved through the shelves, making their way out of the department. He stayed behind. Two aurors tried to flank him but he dodged around their spells and snuck deeper into the Hall.

When he heard the aurors yell that they saw his friends, he knocked over a few shelves to create a distraction. But that brought down quite a few of the ministry officials onto him. He fought for three spells before he realized he was too vastly outnumbered.

It wasn't like fighting untrained school children, he realized. They reacted to his spells, they didn't announce theirs, and he got no indication of what they were going to do. It was flattering, he thought, they were actually taking him seriously.

He did his best to not actually engage them, to slowly make his way around the hall until he could finally slip through the exit. He sealed the door behind him. A spell that he knew wouldn't take more than a couple of moments to disenchant. But it would hopefully be enough time for him to make it back to the atrium and either out into London proper or back to Hogwarts via the fire.

London, he thought, might be the better option. Surely they'd just nab them from the school right away. Especially if their breaking and entering threats were valid. Which, he supposed they were.

He rushed back up to the atrium. The fires were all lit and it only took him a moment to realize that members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were flooing in constantly. He saw Ron and Hermione run toward a fire. They made it in just as it activated. Harry thought they'd made it out until the auror appeared in the flames.

The auror took advantage of their surprise and disarmed them quickly. The man bound them and pulled them out of the fire before turning his attention to Harry. The auror fired a lazy stunning spell at him. Harry responded with a cutting hex that could only be healed by burning the wound closed.

The man shrieked as it hit him in the chest. He fell to the ground and Harry started to run toward his friends. But Ron was shaking his head, and Hermione was sobbing.

"No!" she screamed. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

"Leave!" Ron yelled as well. Harry ignored them and continued forward. But more and more ministry officials were appearing in the atrium. They had him surrounded. They were everywhere. Curses started flying at him, some sailing past him and at Ron and Hermione. One pierced through Ron and Harry saw part of his arm hanging limply off the rest of him. He gagged as Ron screamed in agony.

But that was enough to change his course. He needed to draw them away from his friends. He couldn't let them be collateral damage. He turned and ran toward the end of the atrium, toward the glowing magical exit sign.

Curses followed behind him. Bricks flew from the wall and attacked him. He kept the biggest shield up behind him that he could. But their spells were better than that. Some hammered on it, but some flanked him.

He knew he was surrounded. But the exit sign was getting closer and closer. He pushed toward it, hoping for his freedom, already thinking of a plan to save Ron and Hermione.

The first spell hit him in the hip. It felt like someone had taken a beater bat to his side. But he kept moving. The second hit him in his left leg, causing him to skip a step and tumble. The third hit him in the back as he fell. He slid across the atrium floor, rolling onto his back and watching the spells fly over his head.

In moments, he knew, they'd aim lower and he wouldn't be able to do anything but shield for a few moments. And then it would be over. He tried to struggle back to his feet, but his legs weren't obeying him.

Flashes of light shot over his head. But they were going the wrong way. No, he thought, that was impossible. He must have spun around when he fell. His head whirled around, looking for any indication of which way he should be going.

Bright white light flared with the impact of the spells on a shield charm. But he didn't cast a shield charm. He'd meant to. But he hadn't gotten one up yet. Someone had to have come for him.

Dumbledore was his first thought. Dumbledore must have heard of the commotion at the ministry. He must have known that the weapon he was hiding was in danger. He must have come to save him, or at least mobilized the Order of the Phoenix, to stand up to the government, to try to save them from impending war.

Cloaked figures shot past him, holding up their own shields and firing spells of their own.

"Get his friends!" a man yelled. It sounded a bit like Sirius. Or maybe Arthur? It had to be the Order of the Phoenix here to rescue them. Who else could it possibly be?

"Retreat as soon as we have them!" a woman yelled. Tonks perhaps? It sounded like Tonks, although a bit raspier. Perhaps that was just from her trying to hide her identity as her coworkers fired spells at her.

Harry tried to stand again, but the pain in his leg was growing and he stumbled to the ground. It felt like it was broken in some way. Pain seared through him as he tried to apply weight to it. He propped up on his elbows and braced himself for the pain as he tried to get to his feet.

He looked up one last time and saw a bright red light coming straight for his face. He stared at it, fumbling with his wand. But a shield flashed before his eyes as someone came to a stop next to him.

The flash obscured his vision for a moment. Magic infiltrated his leg and he felt it snap back into the correct position. He screamed as blinked his vision back into focus as rapidly as he could. A numbness spread over his freshly healed leg. An arm reached down toward him. A well-manicured hand poked out from the end of a black sleeve. It's nails were painted a deep red.

"Come on," Emily Price said, her voice calm and controlled amidst the din of the battle in the atrium. "Let's get you out of here."

Harry paused. He stared up at the woman who murdered his parents. At the woman who couldn't have possibly cared about him. At the person responsible for most of the negativity of his life. A person he'd hated since he known of her existence.

A person who was now his only salvation.

He took her hand and she pulled him to his feet.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgment: Rpeh on the beta work.

Chapter 29

"Minister Fudge!" a man yelled. Harry looked through Emily's massive shield charm. She'd made a bubble around all of them. Spells impacted against it as wizards charged toward it. He turned and saw Ron and Hermione struggling against three Death Eaters that were dragging them toward the shield and Emily.

One of the Death Eaters took a curse to the back before they made it back. Harry winced as she fell.

"What is it Scrimgeour?" Fudge yelled.

"Look!" the Auror yelled back, pointing at the shield dome.

"What?" Fudge yelled again. "Why haven't you gotten the damn boy!"

"It's _her!_ " Scrimgeour yelled again, pointing directly at Emily.

"Who?" Fudge screamed. His growing frustration was clearly getting to him. Harry stood at Emily's side. He noticed she hadn't let go of his hand. He squeezed her hand as spells impacted against her shield.

" _Her!_ " Scrimgeour yelled once more. And it seemed to dawn on Fudge. He did a double take and stared at her.

"Aurors!" he yelled. "Protect me!"

"Hello boys and girls," Emily said, her voice booming through the ministry. It seemed to reverberate through Harry's head as she spoke. He saw at least a quarter of the people in the atrium fall to the ground clutching their heads.

"To the minister!" Scrimgeour yelled as Aurors flanked Fudge.

"Get out of here!" Emily ordered the Death Eaters. She saw them make for the one open floo that she'd blocked off with her shield.

"Disable the fires!" Scrimgeour shouted. He barked orders like a field commander, Harry thought. And the ministry officials obeyed him readily enough. "Ensure the Apparition jinxes are in place!"

"We have to go," Emily started pulling Harry toward the fire as well. But the flames vanished before they could get there and she cursed loudly.

"My Lord we're going to have to either fight out or find a way passed their magic," the black robed man hanging onto Ron and Hermione said.

"They'll be through my shield soon," Emily winced as more spells hit it.

"So fight?" the man asked.

"Fifty each?" Emily laughed.

"Thirty if the boy helps. You can have the stragglers," the man laughed as well. Harry glared at him. He didn't like seeing someone able to banter with her and her respond positively. That annoyed him. He squeezed her hand again.

"I'll fight," Harry volunteered, intending to point out that he was still there.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped.

"They lured me here and attacked me! They hurt my friends." Harry spat. "I'll fight."

"No," Emily said. "None of us are going to fight. We need to get your friends out of here. That's the first priority."

"What's the plan then, Master?" the man asked.

"Take them deeper into the ministry. Lose whoever manages to get past me. Hole up somewhere and I'll find you and then we'll double back and get out," Emily said.

"How would we get out of here, we're surrounded," Harry said.

"You're in for a show," the man smirked.

"Are you ready, Avery?" Emily asked.

"On your cue, Master," Avery nodded.

"What are you going to do? Harry asked. Emily looked at him for a moment and then smirked as she took her hand from his.

"Put on a show," she said, smiling and tilting her head toward her dimple. And she stepped away from them, out of the protection of her shield. As she stepped toward the ministry officials a black mist seemed to envelop her. Harry watched as she started to float and then shot from person to person, bodies flying, people screaming.

"That's our cue," Avery said. He grabbed Harry and pulled him away.

"I want to watch!" Harry yelled. Emily kept flashing around the Atrium, blasting people away from her, drawing the attention of all of the ministry officials to her.

"And if they capture you because you weren't willing to run she's going to be incredibly cross with you," Avery said. Harry frowned and glared at the man. The more annoying part was that he knew the Death Eater was right.

"Fine," he said. "Ron, Hermione, let's go."

"I don't want to go with him!" Hermione exclaimed.

"You're welcome to take your chances with the ministry," Avery said.

"Let's just go!" Ron screamed, his eyes focusing on the dangling remains of his arm.

"Follow me," Avery said. And he started running away from them and back toward the offices of the Ministry. Harry pushed Hermione after him, before grabbing Ron by his one good hand and pulling him as well.

They ran through halls, up stairs, and down long corridors. Twice Avery blasted holes in the ceiling and the floor, to confuse their tracks if they were traced he'd said. Harry didn't know exactly where they were going, or exactly how far they ran. It took about a half hour before Avery finally pulled them into an office.

"Department of Games and Sports?" Harry asked, eyeing the posters on the wall. It was mostly shots of quidditch players and quidditch teams as well as a promotional banner from the last World Cup.

"One entrance and exit, tucked away in the back. We should have a fairly good heads up if they enter the floor and work their way down here," Avery explained.

"Harry what are we doing?" Hermione asked, her eyes were wide and she was starting to hyperventilate.

"Breathe before you pass out," Avery said. Hermione glared at him.

"Don't you tell me what to do! You're a Death Eater!" she yelled, her arms flailing, her face flushed rather deeply. She continued to emote before she collapsed against a wall.

"You okay, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"No," Hermione frowned. Harry noticed the tears swelling in her eyes. "I'm not okay! We're standing in the ministry with a Death Eater after we were attacked. I have no idea what's going on!"

"Come here," Harry said. Hermione stepped toward him and he hugged her. She started to cry into his chest. Harry peered around the department as she sobbed into his chest, hoping that it would be over quickly.

"They're going to kick us out of school," she muttered between gasps.

"Maybe," Harry said. "But all four heads have to vote on that and I just can't see them doing it after we were threatened and attacked."

"Or capture us and send us to Azkaban," Hermione continued to cry.

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. Which just made Hermione cry more. He knew Emily had broken people out of Azkaban before. He wondered if she'd do that for him. He wondered if Fudge would even let him go, or just give him straight to the dementors.

"Let me have a look at that," Avery said to Ron, as Ron continued to stare in disgust at his arm. Bone was visible, tendons and flesh hanging out from underneath his shoulder. Ron looked up at the Death Eater. Harry thought his friend looked rather woozy as he stood there.

"Okay," he nodded, attempting to hold the arm out toward Avery, a hunk of flesh fell to the ground with a wet noise. Harry fought the urge to gag and was glad Hermione's face was buried in his chest at that moment.

"Just hold it," Avery said quickly, stepping up toward Ron, who was attempting to flail the arm as if he was trying to examine whatever had just fallen from that. "Let me get a good look at it."

"Did you see that?" Ron asked, turning around as if he was still looking for his arm.

"Calm down," Avery commanded.

"It doesn't really hurt anymore," Ron said, his words were slow and his eyes were drooping. Harry frowned at that. But he didn't know if he could do anything to help. His mind seemed oddly blank as he waited.

"I might have to take it," Avery frowned. "You're losing a lot of blood and I'm not sure I could heal it."

"But I need my arm. For quidditch," Ron said blankly. Harry frowned at his friend.

"My Lord could probably heal it," Avery said. "But I don't think I can. And I can't risk having you die from blood loss."

"Let me look," Harry said. He slipped from Hermione, sitting her on a nearby desk as he moved over toward Ron.

"Yes, My Lord," Avery said. Harry raised his brows at the Death Eater. He found that sentence to be very problematic.

"I am not your Lord," he said.

"Yes sir," Avery responded. Harry glared at him for another moment before turning his attention to Ron's arm. He took out his wand as he examined the hunk of bone and flesh that hung down from his friend's shoulder.

His first thought was that everything important was there. His second thought was that he had no idea what everything important was, so his first thought was incredibly stupid. Still he examined it and frowned.

"Just don't cut it off," Ron said, sounding rather worried. He kept trying to move the arm and when he did blood pooled down on the floor.

"I won't," Harry said.

"Harry you don't know any healing magic," Hermione said.

"I learned some for the defense group," Harry said. "Seemed silly to let people start cursing each other and have no idea how to counteract ay of it."

"Some?" Hermione frowned. "And now you want to try to fix that?"

"I didn't say I wanted to try," Harry said. "I just wanted to take a look and see if I thought I could do anything to help."

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. We're fine," Ron said quickly.

"I think Avery is right," Harry frowned.

"Don't hex off my arm!" Ron exclaimed again.

"Not going to. But I do want to try something," Harry said, as he shifted through his minimal knowledge of healing spells in his head. He frowned as it took longer than he would have thought to get through them.

One stuck in his head. A battlefield healing spell Emily had taught him in Chicago. He'd never actually used it though. She'd advised against it, unless in dire circumstances. There were better ways, she'd said. Of course, she hadn't bothered to teach him those better ways. Saying they required more finesse than power.

"As long as you don't take my arm off," Ron said adamantly. "Really, don't take my arm off." Harry nodded and slashed his wand at Ron.

His friend screamed. A shrill, bone-chilling scream as he fell to the ground and writhed in pain. Harry winced, as he remembered that they were supposed to be hiding. And he was positive that everyone inside the ministry now knew exactly where they were. It was Avery that reacted first, though, silencing Ron with a flick of his own wand.

"What did you do!?" Hermione yelled.

"Tried a spell!" Harry gasped.

"We're supposed to be hiding," Avery scolded, calmly.

"Sorry," Harry responded. He turned his attention toward his friend, who was still rolling around on the ground. Hermione slid off of the desk and knelt next to him.

"Are you okay, Ron?" Hermione asked.

"He's fine," Avery said.

"Shut up," Hermione snapped. Avery looked at Harry, as if he expected him to scold Hermione for telling him off. Harry ignored the look.

"Ron?" he asked as his friend stopped rolling around on the ground. Ron rolled over onto his side and to Harry's great surprise his arm was entirely mended. He was clutching it with his other hand, staring up at his friends.

"A little warning next time?" Ron asked. "That hurt worse than getting cursed."

"Preferably there isn't a next time," Harry responded.

"Preferably," Ron agreed.

"How's the arm?" he asked as Ron sat up. He flexed it around, as if judging the range of motion. He winced every time he moved it.

"It seems okay," Ron said. "Rather stiff and a bit sore. Like I slept on it funny for too long."

"Well let me know if anything seems off," Harry said.

"So you can do that again?" Ron laughed. "No chance."

"Fine," Harry smiled at his friend. "So much for helping you."

"Can I help you, see how you like it?" Ron teased, still stretching out his arm. Avery had moved toward the door and cut a small hole in it. He peered down the corridor.

"Anyone coming?" Harry asked.

"Not yet, sir," Avery said. Harry frowned.

"Why does he call you sir? Ron whispered.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"And he called you 'my Lord," Hermione added.

"Weird," Ron said.

"And where did you learn that spell?" Hermione asked.

"I think Emily taught it to me in Chicago," Harry said. Hermione frowned more and looked deep in thought for a moment.

"You think?" she asked.

"Do you remember where you learned everything?" Harry asked. Of course, he thought, knowing Hermione she probably did remember just the exact moment where she learned every spell she knew. But hopefully she wasn't that insane.

"Things like that? I probably would remember," Hermione said.

"I'm glad he knew it," Ron said, pulling his healed arm back behind his head and continuing to stretch. He started to pace around the department. Harry thought he looked like he was doing his pregame warmups.

"Maybe I picked it up in the diary," Harry shrugged.

"I'd been meaning to comment on that," Hermione frowned. "But, well, we didn't really talk after."

"After?" Ron asked, peering over at them.

"What's up?" Harry frowned, already sensing where this conversation was going to go.

"Well, after you let me borrow it," Hermione said. Ron frowned at the use of after again, but seemed to take that as an acceptable answer to the question.

"Oh, the book," he said, turning his attention instead to the portraits and banners in the office.

"We should find you some food," Avery said, moving from the hole he'd carved out of the door and toward some of the desks. "You look pale still."

"I am hungry," Ron said. "But where are we going to find food in here?"

"Someone will have something in their desk," Avery said and started to fumble through the desk drawers. On the third desk he found a couple of chocolate frogs and took them out, throwing them at Ron.

"Thanks," Ron said. Avery just nodded and went back to the front of the room.

"But Harry," Hermione frowned. "I've watched nearly as much of that diary as you now. And it hasn't helped me at all. I don't know anything new. I don't have weird new spells. I'm still exactly the same."

"Well I don't know," Harry shrugged. "I must have picked it up somewhere."

"Yes," Hermione said. "I think you did. From _her_."

"Yeah, in Chicago," Harry agreed.

"No. Not in Chicago," Hermione said. "I think. Oh Harry."

"What?" he asked.

"I think she's in your head," Hermione blurted out. Avery turned and peered at her for a moment. Before looking back out the door.

"That's silly," Harry said.

"Is it? You're doing things only she does. You used that shockwave she used multiple times-"

"She showed me how to use that. After using it on me," Harry said.

"Well, and you answered questions to classes you never took," Hermione said.

"But did see in the diary. I mean you probably didn't pick anything up because you'd already taken them," Harry said.

"And she knew how to find you. And you had those visions of Ron's dad when he was attacked. There's so many things you shouldn't know that you do," Hermione said.

"Woah," Ron said. Harry turned and looked at him, looking for any excuse to not continue his conversation with Hermione.

"What is it?" he asked.

"This snitch is signed by Fedorir Yarnak," Ron said, holding up a snitch in a small glass case.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"Famous seeker," Avery said.

"Probably the greatest seeker to ever live," Ron frowned, as if Avery's explanation wasn't good enough.

"Ronald," Hermione sighed.

"The man was a legend!" Ron laughed. "More snitch catches than anyone in history. He was going to become a Cannon but he decided to try to fly to Jamaica for a vacation and disappeared."

"How very Chudley," Harry said.

"I should keep this," Ron said, staring at the snitch.

"Go for it," Avery said.

"Ron, that's absurd. You most certainly should not. That's probably someone's prized possession," Hermione scolded him.

"You're right," Ron frowned and placed it back down on the desk. "Seems silly to leave it at the desk though."

"Well I'm sure it's owner didn't suspect four fugitives to break into their department!" Hermione scolded.

"Probably," Ron agreed. He continued to pace around the department. Unfortunately, that turned Hermione's attention back to Harry.

"We need to get out of here eventually," Harry said.

"We wait for her," Avery said.

"Speaking of," Harry said, filled with a sudden curiosity. "Why do you follow her?"

"She wants to make the world a better place. I agree with what she's trying to do," Avery said.

"Really?" Harry said.

"Is that such an odd concept to you?" Avery asked. "She's sick of living in fear, of having to hide everything she is. Of being forced into small communities that grow ever more stagnant. Stagnant societies die. And she is going to make a world where we can be ourselves, demonstrate our power, and be above all of them."

"And that's what you believe in?" Hermione asked.

"It's what I was raised with," Avery said. "I revered her as a child. My father was close to her. He was one of her first followers. She was around when I was growing up. She was around my entire life. Hell, she introduced me to my wife."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Like an arranged marriage?" Ron asked.

"No," Avery laughed at the notion. "Our families all hosted these parties. Weekly things really. Just an excuse for families to get together and drink and complain. She'd show up sometimes. Mostly before the war began in earnest. It got harder to do so after that. She was always the guest of honor."

"And?" Hermione asked.

"And at one of these she saw me, peering at a little mousy girl with glasses in the library. She looked so out of place. Her clothing not nearly as fine as what nearly everyone else was wearing. She was clutching a book in front of her, as if she was hoping she could hide herself behind it," Avery smiled at the memory. "She looked so surprised when anyone even looked her way."

"And?" Harry asked.

"And Lord Voldemort saw that," Avery said. "And she saw me. And she dragged me into the library to introduce me to Celia Borgin. And we hit it off immediately."

"Lord Voldemort worked for Borgin," Hermione said.

"She had," Avery said. "That's how she knew Celia. She was like the third niece of the shop owner. She'd just finished at Hogwarts. My Lord spent that whole night being charming and making us chat with each other. Six months later I asked her to marry me."

"What happened?" Harry asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Aurors broke into our home during the war. I was staying late at work. When I got home she and our son were dead," Avery said.

"Well they were Death Eaters," Ron said, insensitively.

"Celia was practically a squib. She only managed four O. and nothing more. Our son was seven and hadn't shown any accidental magic as of yet," Avery said.

"The ministry wouldn't-" Hermione started.

"The same ministry that sentenced Sirius without a trial. That okay'd the use of unforgivable? That inflicted Umbridge on us?" Harry said.

"He's a Death Eater!" Ron said. "He's probably making it all up."

"It's public record," Avery said. "The reports are all still there. They let a lot go during the war. I'd been out of combat for two years by that point."

"That can't be," Hermione said.

"It is," Avery said. "It was a war though. Your side never seems to realize that. Everyone has someone they care about. There were crimes on both sides."

"So why follow her if her if her war cost you your family?" Harry asked.

"Who do you think was there to pick up the pieces?" Avery asked.

"What?" Harry laughed.

"You asked why follow her? It's easy, Mister Potter. She was my hero. She was my matchmaker. She was my salvation. A world made in her image would be much better than the one we currently live in. Somewhere along the way, though, it all went to shit. But…" Avery shook his head as he spoke.

"But what?" Harry asked.

"But she was. No. She is the best of us. I'll follow her to hell. She might not have succeeded in her goals. But the world would be worse without her efforts," Avery said. The three kids each frowned at his words. They lingered in the air as Avery resumed his watch. The silence lasted a few minutes until Hermione spoke.

"I think we should find a way out without her," She said quietly. "Sneak out while they're distracted."

"Maybe," Harry said. But he wanted to wait for Emily. He didn't want to venture back into the ministry with just the three of them and no idea how many ministry officials were still in the building.

"Harry, I really think we should flee," Hermione said.

"I don't want to," Harry said.

"Harry, I really think we need to get you away from her," Hermione said softly.

"Away from whom?" A soft feminine voice said from behind him. He spun around to see Emily standing there, black mist slowly vanishing from her.

"My Lord," Avery said, nodding his head to her before turning to his watch.

"Are you three alright?" she asked. Ron gaped at her. Hermione slid behind Harry, as if trying to hide.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

"Holy shit," Ron said, staring at her.

"What's the situation?" Avery asked.

"It's chaos," Emily said. "Fudge is trying to convince them that it wasn't me they saw. He's rallying more people to him than trying find anyone here. They're trying to track down the ones that fled to make sure that word of my return doesn't get out."

"Why?" Avery asked.

"Fudge knows he won't stay in power if news of me gets out," Emily responded. "He's trying to sustains himself rather than actually fight the threat."

"That's insane and stupid," Hermione scoffed. She then blushed and clutched Harry, as if she was regretting her need to opine on the topic.

"Yes, Fudge is those things," Emily said.

"Harry," Ron said.

"Yes?" Harry asked.

"That's You-Know-Who," Ron said. Emily curtseyed at him at the acknowledgement and Harry watched as Ron flushed deeply.

"Yes, it is," Harry said.

"She wants to kill you," Ron said.

"Em?" Harry asked. Emily let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"Emily," Emily said sternly.

"Emily?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry?" Emily asked as she moved toward the door to the department. Avery stepped out of her way on instinct and she peered through the hole he'd cut in the door. He furrowed his brows as he stared at his master and mouthed the word 'Emily' as if he didn't believe it.

"Do you want to kill me?" he asked.

"Call me Em again and you'll find out," she said.

"Does that answer your question?" Harry asked, looking to Ron.

"No," Ron said.

"What's the plan, My Lord?" Avery asked.

"How his arm?" Emily asked, completely ignoring Avery's question.

"I think it's fine," Avery said. "The boy fixed it."

"Let me see," Emily said, walking toward Ron. Ron flinched away from her.

"No," he said. Emily crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him for about ten seconds. When she gave no indication that she would stop doing that, Ron held out his arm to her.

"It looks alright. Tell me if any of this hurts," she said, prodding it with her hands as if examining the craftsmanship of an intricate object.

"It feels fine," Ron said, looking everywhere but at her as she worked.

"Well done, Harry. Looks like you healed it perfectly," Emily said.

"Thanks," Harry blushed at the compliment.

"The plan, My Lord?" Avery asked again.

"Split up," Lord Voldemort said. "You take those two and head to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Their floo is still active. You can sneak them out through there. There are only two or three guards posted there. I'm sure you'll be able to deal with both of them readily enough. I suspect they're monitoring the floo there though. So be careful. I doubt that we'd be able to get more than three uses out of it. Go somewhere public like the Leaky Cauldron and slip out into London proper as soon as you can."

"Then you and the boy should take it," Avery said.

"No," Emily said. "They're tracking me too. I'm not sure just quite how they managed it. But we'll have to move soon. It takes them a few moments to figure it out. But they seem to be able to find me readily enough inside the ministry. The ones that are still paying attention will chase after me. You should have an easy escape. We'll be able to slip into muggle London and be less noticeable than you three. Have them head to the order safe house. They'll be able to hide there."

"How do you know about that?" Ron asked.

"Because I'm brilliant," Emily snapped. Ron blushed and looked away from her.

"Oh," he said.

"I'm not telling him where the safe house is," Hermione said, glaring at Avery.

"You don't have to," Emily responded. "All you have to do is guide him there. I suspect you are likely more familiar with Muggle London than Mister Weasley is. And I suspect you are able to get there yourself. Avery will keep you safe until then. And the charms on the building will prevent him from remembering where it was."

"Yes, My Lord," Avery said. He stepped over toward Ron and Hermione.

"I am not going to leave Harry alone with you," Hermione said. She slipped out from behind Harry, her wand in hand and leveled on Emily.

"Oh?" Emily asked.

"He shouldn't go anywhere with you," Hermione said.

"Probably not," Emily said. "But I'm his best chance of getting out of here.

"Then have me go with you too," Hermione said. "I won't leave Harry.

"No," Emily said.

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

"Because you'd be a liability," Emily said.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!" Hermione spat.

"Hermione you're arguing with You-Know-Who!" Ron yelled, as if trying to make her see the error of her ways.

"You are not," Emily said. "At least not to the level Harry is. While you are a bright young lady, Miss Granger, you would not be useful in a fight."

"You expect a fight?" Hermione asked. "Where are you taking him."

"I expect nothing," Emily said. "But I choose to be prepared. You have a better chance of escaping with Avery. They want me and they want Harry. If they see us they will come down full force."

"So, we're being bait, too," Harry said.

"Essentially," Emily said.

"I want to help," Hermione frowned.

"I appreciate the new, action-oriented personality," Emily said. "But you will help by doing as you're told."

"I'm not going to take no for an answer," Hermione said.

"I'm not giving you a choice," Emily responded.

"You can't take away my choice," Hermione spat.

"I could. But I don't need to. Avery, make sure you catch them," Emily said. And then she slashed her wand toward the floor. The ground beneath Hermione, Ron, and Avery all vanished. Ron and Hermione yelled, but Harry heard no noise from Avery. Another slash of her wand returned the floor to its original condition.

"Are they okay?" Harry asked.

"They're fine," Emily said. "They're closer to their departure point too."

"Why didn't you have me go with them?" Harry asked. "If they're tracking you."

"Because you wouldn't have," Emily said. "And I wasn't kidding. If they see you with them, they'll bring every Auror they have down on them. And I'd just have to come back and deal with it again."

"I might have gone if you told me to," Harry said.

"No. You'd have grown annoyed and attacked Avery and gone looking for me," Emily said. "And I'd have had to come back and save you again. They'll at least follow Avery and get out safe."

"You're sure?" Harry asked.

"Avery has never failed me before, I doubt he'll start now," Emily said.

"You like him," Harry said.

"He's a valuable soldier," Emily said.

"He's important to you," Harry said. Emily turned and looked at him, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Are you jealous?" she asked.

"No," Harry said quickly.

"Good. That would be annoying," Emily said.

"So, what are we going to do?" Harry asked.

"I am going to get you out of here," Emily said. "Probably take you to the Order's headquarters so that you'll at least be safe."

"I don't want to go there," Harry said.

"Better there than here," Emily responded.

"They didn't come help me," Harry said.

"Perhaps not," Emily said. "But let's worry about that after we get out of here."

"I want to go with you after we're out," Harry said. She stared at him and then just shook her head.

"No," she said.

"Yes," he responded.

"No," she said again.

"Why not?" he asked.

"You don't gain anything from coming with me. You'd rather have your freedom than anything I can offer you," Emily said.

"They'll just lock me in the house," Harry said.

"I doubt it," Emily laughed. "If it gets out that I'm back, and that you were here, trying to fight me, well you'll be a hero again."

"I wasn't trying to fight you," Harry said.

"Well, make sure you leave that part out then," Emily said.

"I'm not going to lie to them," Harry said.

"Telling them the truth won't help you at all. Now let's go," Emily said. She threw open the door to the department and strode out into the ministry again. Harry waited for a moment, watching her walk away from him. He sighed and strode after her.

"Avery told us about his family," Harry said.

"Why?" Emily asked.

"We asked," Harry answered.

"He doesn't answer to you," Emily said. "And it's not a topic he particularly likes to talk about. I'm surprised he would share it with you."

"What happened to his family was awful," Harry said.

"Yes it was. It was such a waste." Emily said. "But it was a war, Harry. Things like that happened on both sides."

"That's what you said when you tried to kill me," Harry said.

"You finished then?" Emily asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "But I don't understand. If it was all such a waste. Then why did it even have to happen?"

"Because it was a war. There was waste on both sides. All the magical blood lost was a waste. We should be better than that. We shouldn't squabble with each other. But that's all that's left for us," Emily sighed.

"Why did it all fail?" Harry asked.

"Because I wasn't a good enough leader to make it all succeed. I could only convince a small portion of people. And even then they were still too rooted in their old views. Somewhere…" Emily frowned and then waved her hand, as if dismissing the idea. "No, there's no point to that."

"Somewhere what?" Harry asked.

"Martin liked alternate history novels," Emily said.

"What does that matter?" Harry frowned. Her saying the word 'Martin' sent a pang through his chest that he didn't fully understand.

"Well they were all, what if you fell into Ancient Rome, or what if the Germans won the war, things like that. Something would, or perhaps wouldn't, happen and it would change everything. It's a silly notion, really, and one that doesn't hold up in the realm of possibility. Like I mean even if the American's lose at Midway they're still outproducing the Japanese at record rates and-"

"You are way off topic," Harry said.

"Right, well, it's fanciful to think about. If I didn't do this, or if someone else did that, then how does everything change," Emily said.

"I follow," Harry said. "But I'm not sure what the point is."

"Well. It's all just a fantasy. In the end, we have to accept that the world for what it is. It is what we make of it. But there's always things that we have to wonder, if the world would be better if we did or didn't do something," Emily said.

"What are you saying?" Harry asked.

"We live in a world where I failed spectacularly. It was all destined to fail. I've spoken with spirits and I had a lot of hindsight floating as a wraith and observing everything. But I've come to one conclusion. It was me," Emily said.

"What?" Harry asked.

"All of it, the killing, the war, it boiled down to my own naïve stupidity. I was too young, too stupid, and too arrogant to even realize it then. It was on a crash course from the time I graduated. And the only way it ever wouldn't have happened would have been had I died in a ditch in Nurmengard," Emily said. Harry paused and stared at her. There was a certain sadness in her words as they echoed through his head. A tear welled in her eye but she wiped it away.

"Everyone deserves a chance," Harry mumbled.

"By that point I'd blown my chance on the Riddles and Myrtle," Emily said.

"Dumbledore is as much to blame as you," Harry said. Emily shrugged her shoulders. It was clear, he thought, that she didn't disagree with him. But he knew an argument was going to come anyway.

"Dumbledore stopped Grindelwald and ended a massive world war that cost the lives of millions upon millions of people in addition to stopping a genocide," Emily said. "Even if he did spur conflict with me. That doesn't balance the scales."

"Why don't you just stop then?" Harry asked.

"I can't," Emily said, smiling weakly at him, her one dimple showing on her face. "I made a promise. I have to keep that promise."

And with that she turned and walked away from him. Harry didn't really know what to say. He could remember one distinct promise from her memories. A promise to the shade that had been her dead husband.

But to have to keep that? Why? It didn't feel right to just be some promise made to the memory of someone she cared about. What had she done? Was it something with the ring? Powerful objects like that often had a cost. He frowned until her voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Don't lag behind," Emily said. They were moving quietly through the surprisingly empty halls of the ministry, toward the atrium and the exit.

"I'm surprised there aren't more people here," Harry said. "At least trying to stop us."

"Avery triggered an alarm near their exit," Emily said. "They're going to rush toward that and give us a small window to escape."

"Will they be okay?" Harry asked.

"Fine. He won't have triggered it until they were right on their way out," Emily said. "He does have some experience, you know."

"So, your plan is to just walk us through the atrium and straight out of the ministry?" Harry asked.

"That's it," Emily said.

"And you think that will work?" Harry asked.

"Far more often than people would like to admit, yes," Emily said as they entered the atrium. There were a perhaps five ministry officials still guarding the fires there. Once more he watched Emily as she was engulfed in a black and purple mist and shot over toward them. She appeared in front of them and used magic faster than Harry had ever really witnessed.

She knocked two back, stunned a third, and pulled the fourth and fifth into each other, their heads connecting loudly as she did. The entire thing took maybe three seconds.

"Are you coming?" she asked, turning to face him.

"How do you do that misty floating thing?" Harry asked as he rushed toward her.

"Carefully. Or you splinch yourself," Emily said.

"Helpful," Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's just a proto-form of Apparition. After you've mastered that I'll think about teaching you it," Emily said.

"Cool," Harry said.

"Now let's get out of here," Emily said, moving quickly toward the doorway at the end of the atrium. But they only made it three steps before a bright flash of red-orange light blinded them.

"I will not let you leave with him," Albus Dumbledore said from behind them. Emily stopped, stiffened, and turned slowly to face him.

"Hello, Albus," she said quietly.

"Give me Harry, now," Dumbledore ordered. Harry looked up at Albus Dumbledore, and found he felt absolutely nothing. The man was standing before them both, tall and grand, his wand leveled on Emily.

"I don't control him," Emily said. "If he wants to go with you I'm not about to stop him. He's a big boy and can make his own decisions."

"I'll meet you back at headquarters," Harry said.

"I cannot let you go with her Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I don't trust you to get me to safety," Harry said.

"Harry, you don't understand. She can control you. Your scar, it's a link to her. A bit of her. You aren't acting of your own volition. That's why I had to distance myself from you this year," Dumbledore said.

"What?" Harry laughed in disbelief.

"She has been manipulating you all year, Harry. She's been slowly getting her hooks into you. I didn't realize just how deep it had gone until you came back from vanishing over your Winter break. But you still seemed like yourself. I should have confronted you then. I should have told you then," Dumbledore said. His face was pained with failure. But it did nothing to Harry's emotions.

"Told me what?" Harry asked.

"Come with me and I will explain it all," Dumbledore said.

"He thinks I'm using your scar to manipulate you. He thinks that I can get into your head. He thinks that I have been stringing you along. Swaying you toward me. Making you adore me. So that I could turn you against him and gain what I failed to destroy," Emily said.

"Could you do that?" Harry asked.

"I can do a lot of things, Harry," Emily shrugged.

"She admits it," Dumbledore said.

"Have you been?" Harry asked.

"You didn't honestly think you just knew the perfect spell to heal your friend out of the blue, did you?" Emily asked. Her eyes were still on Dumbledore. Harry took two steps away from her. But not in the direction of Dumbledore.

"Why?" he asked, staring at her. "Why show me those things. Why do any of it. If you could just control me?"

"Harry it is imperative that you come with me before the Ministry comes back," Dumbledore said. "Do not let Miss Riddle control you."

"That isn't my name," Emily said quietly. Harry felt the anger flowing into him. He stepped away from them again. Why did he insist on calling her that? Why couldn't he at least show her the respect of saying her name. And why was he stuck in the middle of this?

He clutched his wand in his hand and stared between both of them, his vision blurred by tendrils of red and gold and green. His muscles all tensed as he stood there, feeling a pressure building up in him before he could explode.

"Harry!" Dumbledore yelled.

"Harry calm down," Emily said, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Calm down, Harry. Breathe. Breathe, let it fade." And he listened to her words. And his breathing leveled. And the tendrils faded.

"Don't let her control you, Harry!" Dumbledore yelled again.

"Breathe. In and out," she said, taking a deep breath as she did.

"Get away from him, Miss Riddle!" Dumbledore yelled, his wand leveled on her. But he wouldn't curse her with Harry so close. Emily turned and slashed her own wand at him.

"That is not my name!" she yelled as a flurry of spells exploded from her just as Harry was calm enough to think straight. He stared around the atrium as Dumbledore blocked her barrage and started to weave his own back. He watched as Albus Dumbledore dueled Emily Price.

It started slow. Or as slow as it could seem when everyone was throwing off as much power as the both of them. Harry found it odd to watch. They stood about twenty feet from each other and threw barrages at each other. And then they'd pause. It wasn't like he'd seen on the battlefield where it had been utter chaos. This seemed more controlled. More formal. As if they were testing each other.

Emily fired off a chain of four bright curses in rapid succession. Harry couldn't identify them from afar. Dumbledore shielded them with a wave of his wand. He threw spells back at her.

Dumbledore was less direct than her. While she shielded his spells, he threw out his left hand and then quickly pulled it back. Emily finished shielding the last spell but she could sense something coming toward her. She spun around quickly and slashed through a gigantic gold figurehead from the atrium's decorations. It split around her and she flashed back around. But as she did Dumbledore forced his hand out toward her again.

This time an all-too familiar bust of energy surged through his hand and toward her. She flailed toward it but it burst through her defenses and smashed into her stomach. The magic pushed her back, knocking her down.

Dumbledore continued to attack her as she dropped back. Harry watched in awe as red and orange magic flared about the man, engulfing him as if it were fire, making him look like his phoenix, glowing in the dark atrium.

Harry had no idea how Emily could withstand such magic. He swallowed hard as he watched, unsure of the outcome he really wished to see. He watched, though, and waited to see what happened. But Dumbledore continued to press toward her, throwing spell after spell in her direction.

Dust from the spells impacting near her was rising up around them. He kept casting and moving toward her and Harry was forced to remember what they'd always said about Dumbledore. That he was the only one she'd ever feared. And he thought he was seeing why.

Feared though? She hated fear. Fear was illogical. Fear served no purpose. No. She wasn't afraid of Dumbledore, Harry thought. In fact, from what he'd seen, Dumbledore seemed to be far more afraid of her.

As he thought it the atmosphere changed. The familiar purple and green magic flared from the dust and Dumbledore was forced back. Emily stepped out from the debris. Her black dress was torn in a couple of spots and her hair had come undone.

"So, you're copying me now?" she asked. "And here I thought you were better than that."

"Improving upon you. Your little shockwave is interesting, but much better if focused," Dumbledore countered. He slashed his wand toward her as the mist swirled around her. She vanished before the spell could hit.

Dumbledore turned sharply, trying to find her, but she appeared behind him before he could make it entirely around. This time, her blast hit him and threw him across the atrium.

"Of course it is," she laughed as he slid on the marble floors. "But it lacks the same shock and awe factor if you do that."

Dumbledore didn't respond. Instead he forced himself toward, her, magical flames engulfing him as he flew, almost like a rocket, straight at her. She slashed her wand toward the fountain he'd already used part of as a weapon and the water rose up from it. She doused him with it as he flew past her, landing feet behind her, damp but unharmed.

"Are we done playing around?" she asked.

"Fine," Dumbledore said.

"About time," Emily responded. And they threw spells at each other in unison. It became something more recognizable to Harry in that moment. He saw bone breakers, cutters, stunning spells, mixed with spells he didn't recognize.

But they didn't shield or dodge. Instead they seemed to pluck spells out of thin air and redirect them. They pulled pieces out of the building and threw them at each other. They transfigured things on the fly. A brick elongated into a snake, which was sliced into thin, knife-like ribbons, which melted away with a flick of Emily's wand.

Fire flew from Dumbledore, surrounding them. Emily peered around at it as Dumbledore separated the two of them from Harry, limiting the amount of space they had to work with. Harry stepped back from the flames and noticed that ministry officials were pouring into atrium.

"Holy shit," one man said, stepping up next to Harry without seemingly noticing him as Emily slashed her wand upward. Segments of the ground, started to spear upwards toward Dumbledore, disrupting the already limited ground of the arena.

"It is her," the lion-looking main said. Harry took a few steps away from them, lurking in a dark corner of the atrium as he watched the fight plan out. Emily leapt over one of the spikes of marble, managing to plant her feet on it and push off toward Dumbledore. He shifted away, slipping on the now uneven ground. But he got a spell off and Harry heard Emily's wrist shatter. The ministry officials cheered as she cursed.

But she ignored it, letting her left-hand hang limply as she slashed her wand at Dumbledore. He dived behind part of the new arena but she blew it away with a blasting curse. She blasted him away, toward the flames, and quickly healed her wrist. Harry winced as it snapped back into place. She just shook it slightly as Dumbledore shot back to his feet.

"I am not going to let you escape," Dumbledore said. "You're vastly outnumbered."

"But they're not helping you at all," Emily laughed. "Perhaps you should have fought harder against the insane old-man narrative."

"You cannot win, Miss Riddle," Dumbledore said. And, in that moment, Harry knew it was over.

Emily didn't speak. She just narrowed her eyes and her expression changed. She lifted both her hands and then pressed the tip of her wand into her left wrist. She pressed it into her skin, letting the blood pool onto the tip of her wand. She flicked it out, letting droplets of it land around the arena.

"You wouldn't," Dumbledore gasped.

"This ends tonight, Albus. I've left you alive for too long. Perhaps it was wrong to assume you'd be more difficult to deal with as a martyr than a man cowering in a castle. Regardless. It's over," Emily said. The droplets of blood she'd littered over the arena were turning into larger pools.

Harry turned his attention to Dumbledore. The headmaster looked afraid while Emily looked nothing but determined. Dumbledore raised his wand above his head and lashed out with fire at her. She didn't move to stop it, instead she kept her wand attached to her wrist, blood starting to stain over the wood.

Dumbledore's fire slashed down toward her, coming to within inches of her, but before it could hit, one of the droplets of blood turned into a column of water and extinguished his spell.

Moments later another droplet rose up and transformed into an impossible amount of a clear fluid. It splashed over Dumbledore's back and he screamed as his clothing started to burn off. He stepped back from her, treading on another droplet. His foot sank into the floor and he struggled to regain his balance as mud engulfed his leg.

Emily continued to litter blood around the arena, her eyes closed. Harry knew she had to be aware of what was occurring around her. That she had to know everything that was going on. But her expression was blank, and her eyes remained closed.

Dumbledore pulled himself out from the muddy ground. More blood congealed and merged into a wall of stone. It slammed down near him, causing him to stumble once more. He slipped over another droplet that exploded in steam, scalding his skin.

He stumbled more, and a torrent of water forced him back. He landed awkwardly on his back foot and again fell into the ground. As he tried to catch himself, another wall of stone rose. And Harry finally understood.

He didn't really know what she was doing, exactly. But the blood reacted to her will. It seemed to be capable of turning into substances she could control more readily. And it seemed she could do it with the smallest of droplets. In the enclosed arena, Dumbledore couldn't react to all of it quickly enough.

And now, everywhere he went the environment attacked him. And he had to deal with that rather than her. He couldn't stay focused on one thing long enough. No matter where he moved, something attacked him. And then, things just started attacking him from every direction. Somehow, she could turn her blood into any sort of weapon. Harry saw knives impact into Dumbledore, he saw rocks hit him, he saw acid pour over him. After moments it was clear he wouldn't last in the enclosed arena.

Eventually, Dumbledore realized it too and lowered the fire wall. As soon as he did Emily pulled the wand from her wrist. She slashed her wand toward the Ministry officials that had gathered. There were perhaps fifteen of them at that point, and the power from her curse threw them all back.

Dumbledore looked toward them, as if he'd been relying on their upcoming assistance. And that was a mistake. Emily fired a bludgeoner at him. It impacted on his shoulder and pressed him back. He managed to shield her next spell as a column of mud splashed toward him.

He froze it but by the time he'd managed that another barrage of spells hit him. Harry recognized a poisoning hex, a severing charm, and a freezing spell of her own. Dumbledore dodged the first three but the final one hit his leg.

He stood, rooted on the spot by the ice forming around his leg, his eyes filled with fear as Emily shot another bludgeoner at his leg. The ice that had been Dumbledore's left leg shattered. He wobbled on his remaining foot and tried to cast another spell, but by then it was over.

She hit him again and again, minor cutting hexes at first, firing them off faster than Harry could count. Next, she ripped bricks from the wall and shot them into him over and over. Dumbledore fell near the middle of the Atrium and all in attendance knew it was over.

"That's enough, Emily," Harry yelled. But she ignored him and continued to fire spells at Dumbledore's body. He managed to raise some defenses. But it was all he could do to keep the weak, silver shield around him.

"How you ever beat Grindelwald I will never understand," Emily spat. Harry thought she looked pale. Blood still dripped from her wrist as she continued to poke at his shield.

"Stop, Emily!" Harry yelled. He didn't want to see Dumbledore die. No matter what he'd done, something about that rang falsely in his head. And it was over. She'd beaten him. There was no reason to prolong this. They needed to escape.

"No," Emily laughed. Her lips curled into a devilish smile, her face reflecting in the dimly lit atrium. Her dimple on display as Harry stared at her profile. "I'm ending this for good. Avada-"

"Em! Stop!" Harry yelled. And Emily froze. She turned and stared at him, her eyes filled with an irrational fury. For a moment, he thought she was going to finish the spell on him. He could see the ministry officials rising around him. And then, in that instant, her expression softened.

The black and purple mist surrounded him. And then he was being pulled through the Atrium, toward the exit.

"Destroy the door!" a man ordered and curses of every type flew toward their only escape route. Debris piled up on it before they could make it. She hit the wall of rubble and returned to her normal form.

"Fuck," she muttered. She swung around and threw curses past Harry and toward the ministry officials that were coming toward them. She hit two. But one of them hit Harry. He fell to his side as a cutter ripped through his ribs. He coughed and blood splashed onto the floor.

Harry felt her grab him by the collar. She pulled him away from the spells as the mist enveloped them again. He felt, for a moment, like he was being shoved through a tube. She was Apparating him, he knew, recognizing the feeling. But then there was nothing but pain and they were thrown out into a doorless room with smooth walls.

"Where are we," Harry coughed. Emily turned her wand on him and he felt the cutting on his side heal, he felt his lungs return to normal, he felt the bloody bile disappear from his sternum.

"Trapped," she said.

"How?" he asked.

"I thought I'd be strong enough to take us both through the anti-Apparition spells," Emily said. She stood in the middle of the room, looking woozy and pale. "I was wrong."

"Oh," he said. "How do we get out?"

"I don't know," she said, her eyes not lingering on any one spot too long. She stepped toward the wall and pressed a hand to it. Harry wondered if she was doing some magic he didn't understand, or merely stabilizing herself.

"Are you alright?" he asked, walking up to her.

"I'm fine," she said, fibbing as she looked up into his eyes as she spoke. That stuck out in Harry's mind.

In the graveyard she'd been his height. They'd stood as equals before she'd tried to kill him. He didn't recall how they'd compared in Chicago. But now, trapped in a room inside the Ministry of Magic, he was a couple of inches taller than her. He looked down into her eyes, shocked at the mere fact that he was capable of standing over her.

Somehow it just wasn't right. This small young woman before him just didn't feel like what a Dark Lord should be. But he'd seen her murder, he'd seen her torture, and he'd heard stories of worse.

"You don't look fine," he said. Emily shook her head.

"Magic using your blood is costly. Powerful. But costly. I'll be fine," she closed her eyes.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"I can disenchant the room. It will take me a few minutes. But hopefully I can do it before they get an army here. They have to know what I tried to do. I'm sure they're on their way to check," Emily said.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"Probably," she said. "Let me formulate a plan before-" and the entire room shook. She fell into his arms. He caught her, hugging her, but she slipped from his grasp immediately.

"What was that?" he asked.

"They're already here," she said as the room shook again, the plaster on a nearby wall cracking.

"What are they doing?" Harry asked.

"It's a sealed room," Emily said. "They've got to break in. It'll get worse the closer they get."

"How long?" he asked.

"Minutes," she said.

"What do we do?" he asked, panic welling up inside of him. But, then again, she was Lord Voldemort. Surely, she'd fought through worse odds before. She had to have a plan. She'd be able to come up with something.

"We're not both going to make it out of here," she said coldly. "I guess I was right about tonight."

"What?" Harry blinked as she spoke, the truth of her words filling his head. He knew what she was talking about even before she said it.

"It does all end tonight," she said. She clutched her wand and looked up at Harry. "There's still so much left that needs to be done. I'm sorry. But this is the only way I can accomplish that."

"You're going to kill me," he said as understanding flooded through him.

"Of course not you stupid boy," Emily scoffed. "You're going to do it."

"What? No! I wouldn't do that. Suicide is…I'm not Umbridge. I'm not going to do that," Harry stepped away from her, looking around the room for any possible exit.

"No. It has to be you," Emily said.

"Never," Harry spat back.

"It's not like you even had any control of your life. No. It's always been me. It was so easy too. A fake woe-is-me story with Dudley as an excellent prop and you come to the rescue. And then woo you with a picnic and a smile. Boys are really so easy. Then subtly teach you magic, make you question the ministry, treat you to a good time while everyone else hides you away. It was so very easy. And you fell for it," Emily laughed coldly.

"Why," Harry gasped, anger filling him, tears clouding to his eyes.

"Because you would have been one hell of a weapon. That would have been the ultimate victory. To have Dumbledore's golden child come out with me. To have him wrapped around my finger. And then to get the Granger girl with you, too? The savior and the talented Muggle Born. Exactly what your father could have been. That was more difficult, though. I just couldn't get you to stop thinking about fucking me and actually fuck her. Perhaps she was just a poor target. Either way, that plan is shot now," Emily said.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked. He frowned as she spoke. Something about her words rang falsely in his head. Like she was trying to convince him to do what she wanted, rather than speaking the truth. One of his hands balled into a fist as she spoke, the other gripped his wand tightly.

"One must always be able to explain one's actions, Harry," Emily said snottily, echoing her words from the graveyard. "Now do it."

"No," Harry said.

"Stop being a coward and do it!" she ordered and pain seared through his scar.

"No," he said again, more sternly.

"Fine, Imperio," she said, pointing her wand at him.

Do it, a voice whispered into his head. He shook his head against it, refusing to acknowledge the command, but pain seared through his scar once more.

Do it. She commanded in his head. Over and over and over. He closed his eyes and tried to fight her, but it just made his scar well with pain. He felt his hands rise, his wand pointed.

No. he argued against the curse. She can't make you do it. She can't end it all like that. You won't let her. Be stronger than her. You can be—

Pain. Nothing but pain. Disorienting pain. He couldn't even stay on his feet. Do it and it ends. Do it and it's all over. Do it and you'll find happiness. It's easy. It's two words.

And then she was pulling him to his feet, her hands on his, both pairs wrapped around his wand. His hands felt wrong though, like they were backwards, pointing in the wrong direction. He could barely see her. She was smiling at him, a warm single-dimpled smile.

Here. Let's do it together. That's easier isn't it? Then it will all be over. It's just two words. Nothing more than that. You know the words. Here, right here. She held his hands up, nearly level with his heart.

No. I won't do it. I don't want to die. It doesn't have to be like this. You don't have to do this. Let's just think. Let's get out of here.

But the room rumbled again, and the walls were falling apart around them. And they were out of time. They both knew they were out of time.

Come on. Just two words. Two words and it's all over. Two words and we're done. Say them with me. Say them for me. Do it for me, Harry. Do it because I want you to.

Okay, fine. You win. I hate you.

I know. Now. Say them.

"Avada Kedavra," they said in unison.

Harry felt the power surge from his wand. It was a powerful spell the likes of which he had never felt before. The blinding green-white light filled the room as he felt his body fall to the floor. He felt something icy pass through him, the last vestiges of his life leaving, he thought, as he settled into the cold embrace of darkness.

It took the ministry three more minutes do break into the sealed cell. And another few moments to clean up the debris. When they find found him on the floor of the chamber he was clutching her corpse tightly to him. His tears flowing freely into her hair.


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgment: Rpeh for the beta work.

Chapter 30

Time passed in a blur for Harry. He could remember them pulling him off her body to shocked gasps and then applause. He could remember the lion-looking man grabbed him by the back of the neck, holding him up. He barely noticed the screaming, his eyes focused entirely on Emily's body on the floor as he struggled to look away from her slight smirk.

Someone else pulled him away and he recognized Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks. They huddled him in a corner, away from prying eyes, as Fudge and others argued over the next course of action.

Before he knew it, it was morning and he was still at the ministry. Kingsley and Tonks never let him out of their sight, but he seemed momentarily lost in the hustle and bustle of everything going on around him. Arthur Weasley showed up very early for work and stayed with him for most of the day. Ron and Hermione did not come to the ministry. Harry suspected they were not allowed to.

He only heard murmurings of Dumbledore's condition. He was awake but weak. He wasn't letting them restore his leg yet, claiming that it would take too long and he needed to be involved in everything that was to follow. Some were calling him brave, others foolish, Harry thought it was a bit of both.

It wasn't until he tried to leave that all the attention came back to him. The press found out he was there. And eventually deduced why he was there. When they saw him in the atrium, making for the exit, he wound up swarmed.

Thankfully he was pulled away from the flashbulbs and questions before he could act on his first thought of 'curse them all.' He found himself back tucked into the Auror office with Tonks. Quite a few Aurors came up and shook his hand or hugged him. Harry found he didn't like the attention.

They didn't engage him. He didn't know if that was good or bad. While he specifically didn't want to talk to anyone, he also didn't really like being totally ignored. But he couldn't come up with any reason to speak to anyone. And that just left him to his thoughts. Which just made him think about what happened. Which just made him think about Emily's corpse, her dead eyes gazing over toward him with a smirk frozen on her face for all time, looking like she'd gotten exactly what she'd wanted.

Kingsley brought him lunch which he picked at in a daze. By the afternoon he found himself being ushered to some type of a press conference. To his surprise, he was dragged on stage next to Fudge and the man who'd tried to curse him the night before. Moments later they were joined by Dumbledore in a wheel chair with a coterie of nurses tending to him.

Harry stared at the Headmaster as Fudge gave a speech. Dumbledore looked pale and weak. Harry thought he looked like he was struggling to stay awake. He vaguely heard Fudge droning on about how the entire ordeal, from defaming Harry to ridding Hogwarts of Dumbledore, had been a ruse to set up You-Know-Who and how finally, the night before, it had succeeded. She was dead. And would not terrorize them again. Her body would be on display for a few days before being incinerated.

Harry frowned at that. It felt wrong to do that. Immoral. But Fudge needed a trophy. That much was apparent. And the body of a Dark Lord would certainly push his agenda further. After Fudge pontificated he answered a few questions before dragging everyone in for photos. Moments later they finally let him go. It wasn't until much later that Harry realized he and Dumbledore both hadn't been asked for their opinions. And none of the reporters there had bothered to point out the inherent faults in Fudge's logic.

Tonks escorted him back to Grimmauld place. He was immediately swarmed by Molly Weasley and then Hermione and then Sirius and Ron. He lasted through dinner, not really saying anything. But then everything caught up to him. And he didn't want to be awake any longer.

He went up to his bedroom. Normally he shared it with Ron. He frowned at the thought. He wanted to be alone. Completely alone. He wanted no company of any kind at that point. He waved his arm and the door clicked shut before he ended his incredibly long day.

He woke to a lot of banging on the door to the room. When he finally opened it, Hermione told him they all had to go back to the ministry, as the ministry had made special plans for them to finish their final exams there.

Harry stared at her, confused as to how she could possibly be thinking about tests after all that had happened in the last day. But he couldn't voice that. He tried, but no words came. They choked away in his throat, his thoughts just filled with an annoyance at Hermione that he didn't remember present just a few days before. He simply followed her out of the room because he could think of no way to avoid it.

There was some comfort in the easiness of the exams while he was at the ministry. The proctor kept trying to talk to him during the practical portion of the exam. But Harry would just stare until he was told what spell to cast. He found himself done with the exam well before Hermione and Ron.

This time, no Aurors attempted to stop him as he walked out of the atrium and into Muggle London. No one had told him not to do it. He wondered if that meant they trusted him more. Or if it was purely just because there was no perceived threat to him.

That didn't seem right, though. They'd hidden him away the last time. But that was Dumbledore. And Dumbledore wasn't in the best condition at the moment. Still, no one stopped him as he left, although plenty of the workers watched him go.

He walked to a park not far from Grimmauld Place and simply sat on a bench, watching the daily life of the muggles in London. It wasn't overly entertaining, but it was certainly a way to pass the time.

It wasn't until the sun was setting that he heard someone approach him. He stood and drew his wand. But when he turned he just saw Dumbledore limping toward him. The headmaster was smiling as he slowly made his way up the path, his weight shifted onto a walking cane. His missing leg had been replaced, judging from the stiffness of the movements, Harry suspected it was simply a temporary magical prosthetic.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. His voice was raspy and he sounded incredibly exhausted.

"Should you be out of the hospital?" Harry asked as he tucked his wand back into his pocket.

"No," Dumbledore smiled more. "But there will be enough time for that later."

"How's the leg?" Harry asked, purely because he couldn't think of another direction for the conversation to go.

"Still missing," Dumbledore said, leaning on his cane. "The healers can regrow it but alas, in our old age we tend to heal slower. They think it will take two or three days. Once the dust has settled I'll go through with that. But it did not seem like an ideal time to be on bed rest."

"Probably not," Harry agreed.

"I am so sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"For what?" Harry asked, raising his brows to look at the man.

"She should have never been able to convince you to go to the ministry. I should have been more open with you. That could have all been so much worse. Thankfully…"

"Percy Weasley convinced me to go to the ministry by implying they'd caught Sirius," Harry said.

"What?" Dumbledore asked.

"He cornered me after my astronomy practical exam and dropped that one on me," Harry admitted.

"I thought…" Dumbledore frowned. "But you went to the hall of Prophecy. Surely she must have wanted to hear it."

"Fudge wanted to hear it," Harry said. "They were trying to kill me and my friends. I was fighting them."

"But then why did she come?" Dumbledore asked.

"To save me," Harry said.

"But why?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know," Harry sighed. "I didn't get a chance to ask. Instead I got to stand up on a stage with a man who tried to have me killed less than a day before and listen to him preach about how it was all according to plan."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I'm going to tell them the truth," Harry responded.

"If you think that is the best course of action," Dumbledore said. "Then I would encourage you to take it."

"I'm going to, Professor," Harry said, his resolve hardening as he spoke.

"I am sure," Dumbledore responded. "But first. There is much I feel we need to discuss, Harry. Let us return to headquarters. There is much I should have told you already. And things that I think you need to know. After that we can determine what to do with Fudge."

"Fine," Harry sighed. Part of him really didn't want to go with Dumbledore. But another part of him knew he wasn't going to benefit from sitting around in the park any longer. So, he started to walk with the headmaster, ignoring the strange gazes they received from the muggles.

It was slow going. Harry wondered just why Dumbledore didn't Apparate. But he felt very little power radiating from the man. Which caused him to wonder just how much his fight with Emily had taken out of him. He was sure the headmaster would recover. But, right now he was a shell of himself.

He found himself mostly lost in thought as they walked. Dumbledore kept the conversation to a minimum, as it seemed to take too much of his focus to move properly with the prosthetic and cane.

They stepped passed a street that seemed oddly familiar to Harry. He paused and looked down it as Dumbledore kept walking. A familiar apartment building was at the end of the block. He stared up at the top floor of it for a moment. But the apartment building wasn't what had given him pause.

He let his eyes trail from the windows of the top apartments and down to the street below before he turned and walked toward where he was looking.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked as he noticed his student was moving in a completely different direction.

Harry didn't respond. He chose to keep moving down the street. He cut down another side street and the pit of his stomach hardened as he looked at the rows of houses. They were all much smaller than the Order headquarters. But they still managed to look quaint. The houses were all uniform. Two-story stone buildings with large bay windows looking into living rooms and steps leading up to a door.

Harry walked halfway down the block and stopped. He stared at two buildings that broke the scheme. The doors and windows alternated the entire way down the street. One house would have the door on the right side of the face of the building, the next on the left. Except in the middle where two lefts were next to each other. Harry stared at the blemish until Dumbledore caught up to him.

"There's been magic here. You must have sensed it. That must have drawn you here," Dumbledore said. Harry ignored him. He could feel the magic, now that Dumbledore mentioned it. But that hadn't been what had drawn him forward. No, that had been a slowly fading part of his mind. One that had stepped down that same street hundreds of times. He stared at the two doors and then hissed.

"Reveal yourself," he said in Parseltongue. And the blemish, the fault in the architecture, corrected itself as another house just shimmered into existence between the two. It was remarkably well kept, the door and window looking freshly painted and new. He stepped toward the door.

"Harry! Stop," Dumbledore said, following him slowly. "It is very rude to intrude like this."

"No one is home," Harry said and his foot hit the first step. "No one has been home for half a century."

"You can't possibly know that," Dumbledore said.

"I know it," Harry responded as he slowly moved up the steps. There were five in total and then he was face to face with the door. He reached for the door knob, expecting to be cursed into oblivion when he touched it. But nothing happened as his hand wrapped around the cool metal.

It was locked.

"Harry. We should not be doing this," Dumbledore said, his voice growing more frantic.

"Open," Harry hissed in the language of snakes. He felt the door handle click in his hand. He turned it and pushed the door open as he cleared the threshold into the house.

Everything was pristine. It was almost shocking to Harry. There wasn't even the slightest trace of dust on anything in the entryway. He stepped toward the kitchen as if he'd made the walk a thousand times before.

He flipped a light switch as he stepped into the kitchen. A moderate pang of surprise shot through him as the lights actually turned on. He walked slowly around the small kitchen table, his hand tracing over the back of Martin's chair, along the side of what would have been Amelia's, and then across the back of the one closest to the kitchen proper. Emily's chair. His hand rested on it for a few moments before he turned to look into kitchen.

He opened each cupboard in turn as he went through the kitchen. There were old plates and cups and silverware, all perfectly clean and fresh in their proper spots. But there were no perishables. And there was nothing in the refrigerator.

He stepped from the kitchen as Dumbledore entered. He ignored the older man and walked through the small living room. He stared down at the couch for a few moments, imagining Emily curled up on the furniture. In his mind he could see her sitting on the end of the couch. Her legs were folded underneath her and she was reading a spell book. Martin sat next to her, reading through some paperwork for work. One of his hands was stretched out toward her, gently rubbing the soles of her feet.

Harry let his eyes linger on the scene, knowing it was all in his head but not caring at that particular moment. He let his eyes linger, imagining their quiet conversations as they both focused on their work.

Eventually, Dumbledore moved behind him and stared over his shoulder at the couch. As if he couldn't quite understand whatever it was that Harry was looking at. Harry ignored him, glad that Dumbledore had the sense to not say anything. He stepped over toward the photographs on the wall nearby.

They were all fairy basic. There were a few wedding shots. One of them standing at the altar and one of their faces covered in cake. There were a couple of shots from various vacations, always the two of them standing close and smiling.

Emily looked happy in them. Her dimple on prime display in every shot, her smile quite wide and bright. The general joy on her face made her look almost like a completely different person. Harry stared until it made him feel sick to do so any longer. He turned his attention toward the bookshelf on the opposite wall.

It was filled with books about accounting. Harry frowned at that. He'd expected something far more interesting than that. But it simply wasn't the case. He stepped down the hallway and stared at the rooms. He knew the remainder of the first floor was simply Emily's music room and Martin's office.

He stepped into Martin's office first. His eyes were instantly drawn to the sword stand nailed to the wall. But it was empty. He turned to look around the room and something distinctly different drew his gaze.

A snake lay coiled defensively on the floor of the room. Harry drew his wand quickly and slashed at the creature out of instinct. It flopped away and landed with a thud, rolling slightly as it did.

But, other than that, he made no motion at all. Harry stepped over toward it and flicked his wand at it once more. It rolled over as he did so, but again, that was all it did.

"Harry you should be careful," Dumbledore said from the doorway.

"It's dead," Harry said.

"What?" Dumbledore asked. "Did you kill it?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "I think it was dead before I came in."

"Impossible," Dumbledore said.

"Hardly," Harry shrugged. "Everything dies."

"But it wouldn't. She wouldn't," Dumbledore said. He raised his own wand and the snake lifted into the air and floated over toward the headmaster. He examined it carefully, his eyes running over every inch of the creature as magic turned it around his vision.

"Well, it is," Harry said. "There's a large chunk missing from its right side, about halfway down."

"I see that," Dumbledore said, tilting the creature toward where Harry said and examining the wound. Harry turned his attention away from the snake and continued to look around the room.

A glint of metal caught his attention and he stepped toward it. A moment later he found the remains of the katana. The blade split nearly at the center. It, the hilt, and the sheath were all littered around the corner of the room, as if whoever destroyed them simply left them after the deed was done.

He picked up the pieces and brought them over toward Martin's desk, arranging the two pieces of the blade above the sheath and staring down at them.

"That was destroyed as well?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," Harry said.

"It doesn't look like anything special," Dumbledore observed. He reached out and ran a finger over where the blade had split.

"It was to her," Harry said. He stared down at the remnants of it before him before turning and stepping from the room. He looked at the staircase and stepped onto the first step. He tried to remember something from the diary, but the memories seemed less vivid than normal.

It came to him as he stepped up the stairs, though. The diadem, the locket, the sword, the diary, and her ring. Images of each of them came forth. Could the snake have been something similar too? It must have been, he thought, there had to be some sort of connection.

But what had she used them for? She'd been trying to bring back her husband, and that had failed repeatedly. So just what exactly was the point of those objects? He didn't know. What he did know was that he'd given the locket to Dumbledore, and two more of them were now destroyed in her old home.

He moved slowly up the stairs, wondering just what he was doing, why he was invading the house, and what he would find as he scaled the stairs and moved down the hallway. The first door he passed was slightly ajar. He peered in and saw a colorless crib with a layer of dust on it. That image alone sent a jolt through him and he forced himself to continue on and into the master bedroom.

He ignored the bed when he entered. He ignored Martin's tall dresser in the corner. He ignored to dual nightstands on either side of the bed. He ignored the lamp near the door. Instead, his eyes fell onto her dresser on the opposite wall.

He stared at himself in the mirror above it for a few moments. He looked exhausted, his eyes were slightly sunken with bags forming under them. He didn't recognize the passive nature of his expression as he looked into his own face.

He heard Dumbledore make it up the stairs and he turned his attention back to the dresser. There were four items resting on it. One, a wooden jewelry box, was pushed to the back corner. Three other items remained on the center of the polished wood. A surprisingly small golden ring rested on the center of dresser, flanked by two cream envelopes.

Harry reached for the ring. He picked it up and examined it. It seemed too small. He held it up next to his own hand and wondered just how it possibly fit on her finger. He stared down at it for a moment before he saw the pristine script on the cover of the envelopes. One had _Harry_ written across the face, the other _Albus._

Harry put the ring down and reached for the letter. He turned it over in his hands. It wasn't sealed. He folded it open and pulled the parchment out of it. She'd chosen a violet ink with flecks of silver in it. Her cursive was pristine.

 _Harry,_

 _It is probably a bit cliché to indicate that if you're reading this that something catastrophic happened to me. While this letter may never see the light of day, I always did value preparation more than I probably should have._

 _Anyway, if you're reading this, we're either having a laugh or I'm dead. Given that I'm not particularly big on such laughs, I think it's more likely that I'm dead. Which, I'm sure is hard to take. But, well, it wouldn't be the first time._

 _It isn't really a big deal. I know you probably are too young to really understand. But, really, it's not nineteen fifty anymore. And I'm amazingly uninterested in seeing a new millennium._

 _I didn't run off expecting to meet whatever fate I met. I'm certainly not suicidal. But when you get to a certain age, you grow to accept just whatever fate could bring. And really, if I'm being honest, I'm quite tired._

 _That isn't the point, though. I'm sure you're probably very upset at how things went down. And that's understandable. I've a fairly good idea just about the only circumstance in which you'd be here reading this letter._

 _I'm sure there's nothing I can say to you that will make it any better. So, I'll be brief._

 _I'm sorry, Harry._

 _I doubt you believe me. And you have every right not to. I know I wouldn't believe me either if I were in your shoes._

 _But, at the same time, you've shown far more empathy than I would have ever been capable of myself. Or at least than I would have thought myself capable of. So perhaps I'm not one to judge. Regardless, I am not getting to the point._

 _By this point, I've done everything I can. I've even, through some rather nefarious means, managed to transfer the remaining contents of the Price vault at Gringotts into your own. So, if you are at all going to listen to me at all, I have one request for you. Go and see it all._

 _With this letter is a pair of tickets via boat to New York. I know it's a bit blasé to not simply take a portkey, but you don't get to see the world that way. And that's exactly what I think you should do._

 _Through me you've already learned everything you could possibly hope to learn from Hogwarts. Going back to take more examinations will just bore you. It will all come far too easy for you. Of course, I'm sure you could find plenty of enjoyment in that. But I think it will ultimately leave you unfulfilled._

 _And, to make matters worse, they're all just going to try to use you. And you will hate that. Even I know enough to tell. Dumbledore will try to convince you, correctly, just how evil I am. And then there's the ministry. Well, I think we both agree that the less said about that the better._

 _So, my final bit of advice to you is to get away from it all. Rather than dealing with them, rather than being what they want you to be, rather than conforming to their views, I think you should go and see it all. And from there, decide what it is you believe. And what it is you want to do._

 _There is nothing more that I can give you. And there's nothing more that you can learn from them. You will not be happy if you live under their thumb. And now, with the imminent threat of me extinguished, it's time for you to do just that._

 _Enjoy yourself, Harry Potter. You have earned it._

 _Emily Mary Price_

 _PS: Let Dumbledore have the ring. I'd have done it myself, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. I just couldn't balance the cost in my head. It seemed to be more valuable for what it meant rather than what it contained. I'm sure he won't have the same hesitance I did._

Harry stared down at the words and then flipped the letter over. There was nothing on the back. But when he peered into the envelope again, there were two pristine trans-Atlantic cruise tickets tucked into it. They were dated for the next day. He tucked them into his pocket as Dumbledore made his way to the dresser and lifted his own letter. Harry turned his attention to the headmaster.

Dumbledore pulled out one formal looking piece of folded paper. He unfolded it and stared down at it, frowning to himself.

"What is this?" he asked, staring at it.

"Well it says 'Certified Copy of an Entry of Marriage' at the top," Harry said. "I'm not overly familiar with the legal document but I'd guess a marriage certificate."

"But," Dumbledore started, staring down at the paperwork.

"Please tell me you didn't seriously think she wanted you to call her Lord Voldemort," Harry said.

"What?" Dumbledore asked, looking down at the paper.

"All she really wanted," Harry started, a moment of clarity flashing through him. "Was for you to acknowledge that she wasn't the same sixteen-year-old kid you condemned to hell."

"She was evil, Harry!" Dumbledore growled. "By sixteen she was responsible for the death of a student. She'd framed Hagrid. She'd go on to kill her entire living family."

"So, you have that in common, then," Harry said before he could really think of what he was saying.

"How dare you," Dumbledore spat.

"I'd think that would have been a good bonding experience. I've a feeling that your baby sister wasn't pointing a shotgun at you when she died, though," Harry said, feeling a vitriol he didn't fully understand rising up through him.

"You couldn't possibly know," Dumbledore said. Harry could feel the magic coming to Dumbledore. But it was much less than he'd sensed in the ministry.

"Save it," he said softly. "We both know what would happen if we fought right now."

"Harry," Dumbledore responded, the power dissipating from him as he spoke.

"And she wouldn't want that, anyway," Harry said. "Or she'd have just killed you herself."

"Harry," Dumbledore said again, and once more the power flared. Harry laughed.

"Too easy," he said. He paused for a moment and then gestured to the golden ring. "Anyway. She wants you to have that."

"Do you know what that is?" Dumbledore said, staring down at the ring.

"A wedding ring," Harry said.

"Besides that," Dumbledore said.

"Some type of totem she created while trying to resurrect her husband," Harry said. "Why she wants you to have it, I have no idea. But I will acquiesce to her wishes."

"Harry it is a horcrux," Dumbledore said. He reached for it and examined it in his hand.

"A what?" Harry asked.

"So, she didn't tell you everything," Dumbledore said.

"She didn't tell me anything," Harry said. "She showed me things and never bothered to explain them."

"It's a," Dumbledore hesitated. "It's a sort of magical protection. A strengthening totem for whomever uses it. You said she was trying to bring back someone from the dead?"

"Her husband. Martin Price," Harry said.

"Strange. No spell can do that. She would have known that. But still that's what she was attempting to do. You're positive?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Eventually she gave up and found a ring that did it. At least temporarily. And his shade told her to stop. So she did."

"The Resurrection Stone," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Sure," Harry said.

"I'd found it in the remnants of the Gaunt home last summer. I'd thought she'd cursed it. I was rather surprised to find that she hadn't," Dumbledore said.

"I don't think she cared about it that much," Harry said.

"Yet it never left her finger until, as best can be judged, shortly before she tried to kill you," Dumbledore said.

"Well, it was the last thing that let her see her husband. And she was sentimental," Harry said.

"No. More likely she just enjoyed displaying the trophy. Like that sword below. Proof of her plunder in a foreign land," Dumbledore said.

"You really think that?" Harry asked.

"I'm positive of that. A locket that belonged to Salazaar Slytherin? A magical sword stolen from its rightful owner? A diary that proved she was the heir of Slytherin?" Dumbledore said.

"Something her husband thought looked nice on her. A gift for her husband. And her memories," Harry refuted. Dumbledore frowned at him.

"A snake she controlled. A diadem belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw," Dumbledore countered.

"And a ring given to her to express love and devotion. The tiniest piece of him she had left," Harry said. "The diadem failed her. Or told her she'd never succeed. I don't really know which. She wasn't interested in trophies. I can't explain the snake. That came after me. But the rest. They all linked back to him."

"Harry, I understand her far more than you do," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Then explain why she didn't curse her most prized possession?" Harry asked.

"I doubt she valued much more than the locket," Dumbledore said.

"No. There was one thing. An anniversary gift. She'd actually dreaded it. Because he'd teased her for weeks about her diamond. She liked the ring he'd gotten her. He wanted her to have more of a trophy on her hand. But she didn't like that. She didn't want a bigger one. But he kept teasing her. He'd tell her that the first one he'd gotten her wasn't good enough for her.

"She got so angry at him. She yelled at him to not do it. That her ring was fine. That she didn't want a different ring. To do anything but that. He'd just stare at her, like he didn't understand her at all. And tell her the first one was cheap and not good enough for her.

"When their anniversary finally rolled around she'd been so nervous all day. She actually walked home rather than just Apparating straight out of the shop. She was crying before she even unwrapped the large box he'd left on the counter. I don't think I ever saw her as happy as when she traced her fingers over it for the first time," Harry sighed and paused. He intended to continue with the story but Dumbledore interrupted him.

"But Harry," Dumbledore said. "You never actually saw that."

"Sure I did," Harry said. "In her diary. It was clear as day."

"No, Harry. She may have shared the memory with you. But you did not see it. You did not feel it as you describe. That is coming from the connection between the two of you. That's just her in your head. It's just manipulation," Dumbledore said.

"I don't believe that," Harry responded.

"Yes you do. Deep down you have to. You have to know she had a door that led directly into your head," Dumbledore said. "She didn't even deny it."

"She showed me things, yes," Harry said. "But she let me determine what I thought of it. She didn't just traipse through some door and…."

And then something clicked into place. Something she'd told him in Chicago. Dumbledore said she had a door into his head. Why did that strike him so much? What was that screaming at him? What was he trying to remember?

He saw an image of her, young and battered, caked in mud and blood, her eyes wild as she stared, an expression filled with pain, at Grindelwald. She'd growled four words at him. And that had changed everything.

And she'd explained it to him. She'd told him everything he'd needed to know during their lessons in Chicago. He remembered it clear as day. There's no such thing, she'd said, as a one-way door.

He closed his eyes and focused on his scar. He held them tightly closed and searched through his own head. He looked for a pathway, a doorway, anything. But nothing seemed apparent.

Emily. He yelled the word in his own head as if calling out to her. Emily. Emily. Come on Emily. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Please. You have to be there still. Emily you have to be there still. Where are you, Emily. Where are you? Em? Em? Please?

But there was nothing. He opened his eyes and frowned down at the floor. Of course, there was nothing. She was dead. There couldn't be a door to a corpse.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked. The headmaster was looking at him, his eyes filled with compassion and concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry lied. "But I'm leaving."

"We probably should," Dumbledore said. Harry stepped toward the exit of the bedroom and moved down the stairs. He heard Dumbledore lagging behind him. He turned away from the exit as he stepped onto the ground floor.

He moved toward the music room. He pushed the door open and stared around it for a few seconds. She'd given him everything he needed. She'd said that in her letter. He wondered just exactly what that entailed. He heard Dumbledore make it down to the ground level as well.

"Harry?" the man asked, as if he wasn't sure which room that Harry had disappeared into. "We should get back to Headquarters."

"No," Harry said. He reached toward a black case in the corner and grabbed it by the strap, throwing it up over his shoulder as Dumbledore entered the room.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore said.

"I'm not going back to Headquarters. Or Hogwarts. Or my relatives. There's no point right now. The semester is over. And she's not a threat any longer," Harry said.

"Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I'm staying in London," Harry said.

"I don't think," Dumbledore started.

"I don't care," Harry said. He stepped passed the old man, ignoring him as he spoke once more, and stepped back out onto the London streets, welcoming the cool air of the spring evening.

He walked away from the Price house. He heard Dumbledore try to follow him. But he moved too quickly for the man to keep up with him. Still, he knew he wouldn't get that long of a reprieve. Dumbledore, he expected, would find him as soon as he stopped. But he'd deal with that when it happened.

He eventually found Highbury Fields once more. He paced around it before settling on a bench on the opposite side of the park where he'd been the last time. He looked around the mostly empty park as the sun started to fade behind the buildings.

He placed the black case next to him on the bench and opened it slowly. The bow felt odd in his hands, familiar but unusual. He held onto it, examining it, noting that there wasn't a strand out of place on it.

After a moment he took out the violin itself. It felt lighter than he expected. He let his fingers trace over the wood for a moment before holding it up to his neck. She'd given him everything he'd need, the letter had said. He wondered if this was technically a need.

The scales came easily, although the positioning felt awkward. Both familiar and not. Like something he'd known but hadn't done in years and years. But he kept playing and soon Vivaldi's summer started to fill the park.

"Since when can you do that?" Ron asked from behind him. Harry didn't say anything. He continued to play for a few more minutes, missing notes here and there as his muscles argued with him about his ability. He frowned as he finished the song and put the violin back into the case.

"About an hour ago," Harry said. "Or probably months ago. I just never tried. How did you find me?"

"A hunch," Ron said. "Dumbledore showed up back at Headquarters without you and claimed he'd lost you in Muggle London. They wanted to organize a search party but he seemed convinced that you'd be alight and to give you some space. I remembered that you said you met her here and figured it wouldn't hurt to take a walk."

"And he needed someone to read the map to find here," Hermione frowned. She stepped around the bench and slid next to him on it.

"Ah," Harry said. "And they let you sneak out?"

"I still have your cloak," Hermione said.

"Clever," Harry responded. His friends were quiet for a moment. Harry debated starting to play again, but something about the entire situation still seemed a little too awkward for him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked.

"That you were right?" Harry asked.

"About what?" Ron asked.

"That she was teaching me things without me knowing. That she was in my head. That I wasn't myself for who knows how long," Harry said.

"Violin doesn't seem dangerous," Ron asked.

"I'm sure it's not," Hermione agreed, her tone sounding rather careful.

"It probably isn't," Harry agreed. "But she's gone now. I can tell she's gone now."

"Isn't that good?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"How can you not know?" Hermione asked. "You're back to you. You can be you again. And you know it now."

"That's the problem," Harry said. "I don't know who that is."

"What?" Ron asked.

"Everything from the last year. I don't know what was me, what was her, what was her intention. Everything in my head right now is jumbled. None of it makes any sense. And I can't think of how to rectify that," Harry said.

"We'll figure it out," Hermione said, placing her hand on his, her fingers wrapping around his for a moment, tracing over the violin he held. He shifted away from her immediately. She looked shocked when he did.

"I'll figure it out," he said.

"So, we're good?" Ron said.

"I guess," Harry said. "I didn't really want to do a long emotional goodbye."

"Oh Harry," Hermione frowned.

"What?" Ron asked.

"I'm leaving," Harry said.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

"Everywhere," Harry said.

"Sounds entertaining," Ron smiled. "Can I come?"

"No," Harry said.

"Oh," Ron frowned.

"I need to be alone for a while," Harry said. "I need to figure out just who I am. There are things I need to see. Things I need to experience."

"We could help you," Hermione said. "You don't need to leave me."

"I do though," Harry said. "I'm sorry but I do."

"No, Harry, don't," Hermione frowned, sniffling. Her eyes were watering. Harry looked away from her and instead turned his attention to putting the violin away.

"I have to," he said.

"May I interrupt?" another voice said. Harry stood and turned to face the newcomer. It was the first time he really got a good look at the man in the light. He was tall and probably in his forties if Harry had to guess. Although it was difficult to gauge with Wizards he'd found. He'd have guessed older than Remus and Sirius, but probably not by much. He had fair features and light brown hair.

"Sure," Harry said.

"Harry he's a Death Eater!" Ron gasped.

"So, you're leaving England?" Avery asked. He stood behind the bench, a few paces off of Ron. He was dressed in dark clothing and his hands were visible, no wand in sight.

"I am," Harry said.

"Harry, this could be a trap," Ron said.

"We don't even know why he's here," Harry said. "And I don't think he's dumb enough to announce his presence if he intended to hurt me."

"You can't know that," Hermione said.

"He knows that I can't beat him in a fair fight," Avery said.

"How can he know that?" Hermione asked.

"Because she trained him," Avery said as if the answer was obvious. "And she was worlds better than me."

"So why are you here?" Harry asked, finding himself growing uninterested in where the conversation was going. Although he thought he felt oddly calm given the situation. While he knew exactly what Avery was, he wasn't worried at all.

"I found this in my pocket after the ministry," Avery said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded cream envelope and held it up between two of his fingers. Harry reached out toward it and it floated over toward him.

He plucked it out of the air, not caring if any muggles may have seen the exchange. He turned it over in his hands. Like his, it was unsealed. He opened it and took the one-page letter out of it.

There were only three words written on the page in her pristine hand. Harry frowned down at them. One last command, he supposed. And something that he suspected Avery would attempt if he tried to refuse him.

He floated the letter back over to Avery. He tucked the envelope back into his pocket.

"Fine then," he said.

"When do we leave?" Avery asked.

"The morning," Harry said.

"What?" Ron gasped.

"You're going to go with him, and not take me?" Hermione sniffled. Harry turned toward her and frowned.

"Yes," he admitted quietly.

"Why? What did I do wrong?" she asked, a tear running down her cheek. Harry frowned as he saw it, remembering an adage that there was no such thing as a single tear. And while only one fell down her cheek, he still knew that adage was true.

"Nothing," Harry said, his voice catching in his throat as he spoke. "It's nothing you did. It's entirely me. It's. I. Hermione I just…She told me that she was putting throughs into my head. That she was making me do things. She implied that it was everything. From what I thought of people to what I did."

"Harry," Hermione sniffled again.

"So, I can't know what I actually feel. I can't know what was real and what wasn't," Harry frowned. "I need to put some distance between everything."

"Please," Hermione sniffed.

"No," Harry said. "You have a family. You need to finish school. You need to stay."

"You have family, too," Ron said.

"Not in the same sense," Harry said.

"Yes in the same sense!" Ron argued.

"Please don't leave me," Hermione said quietly. Harry's chest seized up as she said it. Her eyes were wide and afraid as she stared at him. Feelings rushed through him. He wanted to hug her, tell her it would be okay, kiss her, love her.

But did he really? She wasn't the one he'd fantasized about. Of course, she wasn't a fantasy, she was right there. But still, he wouldn't act. He just couldn't. He didn't want to. He wanted to leave, despite the pain that caused in his chest. No. He knew he had to leave.

"I have to," he said. "But there is something you can do for me."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Take care of Hedwig for me," he said. "I'm sure if you need me, she'll be able to find me."

"Oh Harry," Hermione cried and hugged him. He let her linger for a moment before he slipped from her. He grabbed the strap of the violin case and shrugged it over his shoulder.

"Are you ready?" Avery asked.

"Yes," Harry said. He turned away from Ron and Hermione and started walking toward the street, unsure of exactly where he was going to go from there but figuring it would come to him with time.

"Wait," Hermione said. Harry paused and turned to face her once more. She was standing a few paces behind he and Avery. She'd dried her eyes and was obviously making an effort to look brighter.

"Yes?" he asked.

"We'll miss you," she said, her voice hitching in her throat.

"Me too," he said quietly. He suspected she was going to try to persuade him to stay once more. But she didn't. Instead she just tilted her head and looked at him for a moment.

"Come back. Okay? When you find what you need, come back to us," she said.

"I don't know how long that will take," Harry said.

"I know," Hermione said. "Just come back when it's done. Okay?"

"Okay," Harry nodded. She smiled at him and he turned once more and continued walking out of the park with Avery. Hermione and Ron watched them go. Neither spoke as their best friend slipped further and further away from them, both contemplating just what Harry Potter leaving would mean for the future but unwilling to say anything about it. When they were out of sight Ron looked at her.

"Should we have let him leave?" he asked.

"Could we have stopped him?" Hermione answered.


	31. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgment: Rpeh on the beta work

Epilogue

Dumbledore was dead. To Hermione Granger that sentence rang false. Yet it was the truth. She'd hoped for an easier transition into her new position as the youngest head of the Department of Magical Education in nearly two centuries. But instead, she'd spent the month leading up to her twenty-seventh birthday wondering just how she could fix Hogwarts.

Fix probably wasn't the right word. The school wasn't broken. It was just in a transitional period. And one that was overdue. Deep down she was hoping she could convince McGonagall to stay on in some capacity, despite knowing full well the head of Gryffindor had been planning her retirement for years.

While that was a possible solution, Hermione knew it was nothing more than a temporary one. Temporary solutions were not typically good solutions. No, she needed to come up with something better than that. And the onus was now entirely on her to do so.

She frowned to herself as she paced around her London apartment. It wasn't much, just a few streets over from Diagon Alley. It was enough for her though. She'd been saving for years, looking into buying a house. She'd mostly just picked a magical apartment close to the ministry and the alley so she could walk if she wanted to. She could add rooms if necessary, and often changed the layout to something different whenever a new piece of real estate caught her attention. But thinking about houses wasn't really getting anything done.

Neither was pacing, but that didn't stop her. She was wearing a short black dress and had spent far too long straightening her hair that evening. All in preparation for a date. A date that she'd had to leave ten minutes into because Dumbledore died. That probably wouldn't have reflected too positively on her, but hopefully the dress would have earned her at least an attempt at a second date.

Then again, if it didn't, after a major work catastrophe, then the boy probably wasn't worth it. Of course, none of them had been worth it. At least none of them since the she'd taken to Japan before joining the department five years ago.

As if on cue, Hedwig hooted at her as she paced. Hermione frowned and stared at the owl. She was looking old on her perch. She was glaring down at the fluffy ball of ginger and grey cats sleeping on the table.

"Sorry girl," Hermione said. Hedwig closed one eye but let the other one linger on Hermione for a moment. The owl had lived with her, mostly, for the last decade now. Hermine had sent her off with a few letters for Harry. The first time she'd been worried she'd killed the bird. It took almost six months for the owl to come back. But she had returned with a letter from Harry eventually.

And the routine continued. Hermione wondered where the owl had gone. But the replies gave no clue to Harry's actual location.

No, that was much harder to discern. There were rumors of him everywhere. At first there was no rhyme nor reason to them. And some of them, especially the ones that insisted he was alone, were very easy to dismiss. But if someone looked closely enough at it all, and knew anything about Harry, it was easy to pick out events here or there that had his footprint on them.

An unexplained explosion in a New York harbor after Harry Potter was believed to be in New York? No, that wasn't very Harry. That couldn't have been more than a coincidence.

The lunar lander vanishing from the Smithsonian? No. That wouldn't have been Harry either. Especially because there was never any trace of him anywhere near the museum. And surely the entire thing had just been some muggle hoax as the lander returned, completely unscathed, just a few days later.

No, those things were clearly not anything Harry would have been part of. But there were also things that were more difficult to tell. There was certainly traces of him in the incidents in Milwaukee with the orphans. That was considerably harder to place. Because while it was certainly an odd situation. It didn't seem to be an overtly magical one. No, it just made more sense if one assumed magic. But one cannot always assume magic.

And then there was the incident in Montana. While most wrote that off as a bunch of drunk muggle teenagers believing in stories of extra-terrestrials coming down to Earth, there seemed to be more of magic than of other worlds in it.

But what would Harry have been doing flying around Montana? Again, it was another area where there weren't really any solid rumors of his location. And it was amazing how hard it seemed to be for anyone to discover just where he was at any given time. It didn't help that he often seemed to be in six or seven places at once.

But there were other ones that were most assuredly Harry. And yet, they were the ones that most people seemed to think the least likely.

The stories of a pack of unidentifiable beasts running amuck in Mitsue Alberta? That seemed standard enough. But then, two men showing up for less than a day and ending that before disappearing into the unknown once more? No, everyone dismissed that story out of hand. Everyone but Hermione, at least.

The entire thing reeked of hoax though. A few unexplained deaths and then no sign of the creatures ever again? After two mysterious men show up? The villagers wouldn't talk to the Canadian ministry about who they were. The only thing they'd say for sure was that the strangers had saved them.

And then the drug case in Vancouver. The Canadians still weren't letting anyone know exactly what happened there, or letting anyone outside of their own government see just what the wizards had been giving the muggles. Hermione had heard terrifying reports. But it was all hearsay and she couldn't be sure if it was true or exaggeration.

But it had been utter chaos. The Americans and Mexicans had each sent a handful of Aurors to help with the investigations for fear of the drug spreading. And the British were close to doing the same thing. But then it had suddenly, and messily, ended.

A score of bodies, well, pieces of bodies, were found in a warehouse in the harbor district, along with a large quantity of the drug in question, and quite a few bewitched muggles. The muggles, from what Hermione understood, were at least physically intact. Although there were some questions to be asked about their mental states. Still, that seemed to be more due to whatever had happened to them before the incident.

It had been like pulling teeth to get any information out of it. And she'd only really done so by flirting and promising one date, with a Canadian Auror who was in England as part of an exchange program. The man hadn't been present in Vancouver at the time, but told her what he'd heard from hearsay.

The drug, he'd said, murdered people. It slowly eroded their insides until there was nothing left. They were using the residue for some other sort of ritual that no one had been able to determine the goal of as of yet. Or if they had, they weren't sharing.

She'd asked how they'd been stopped. But no one knew. At least that was what her date had claimed. The Canadian authorities had been tipped off to the warehouse. They'd stormed it and found the destruction inside.

Outside they'd been greeted by two men. One middle-aged and the other quite young. The young man had done all the talking and then they'd left before the authorities had been able to do anything about it.

Some in Canada wanted to hunt them down, as they'd obviously murdered quite a few people. Others argued that they had no idea who the two men were, or how to catch them. And that was when the rumors started. One of them looked like Harry Potter. But that was impossible. He'd been in Bihar just days before.

And that was the easiest one to trace. He was obviously in Bihar. And he had obviously been responsible for that. And the sightings were so close. Sure, it was physically possible for him to bounce around as much as the stories seemed to say.

But it would have been exhausting. And it just seemed so incredibly unlikely.

"Miss Granger?" A voice rang through her apartment. Hermione stopped pacing and turned toward the fire. Hedwig hooted her annoyance at the late call and her cats glared at the fireplace in unison. Sage curled back up into a ball but Crookshanks hopped off the table, stretching his old muscles as he started to move, before stalking toward her bedroom.

"Yes, Mister Weasley?" Hermione answered. She'd thought that, after leaving her date and rushing to the ministry for the meeting after Dumbledore's death that she'd have the rest of the night to try to collect her thoughts. Obviously Percy disagreed.

"I just finished with the minister," Percy said haughtily. Hermione made sure she wasn't looking directly at the fire when she rolled her eyes.

"And what did Minister Fudge have to say?" Hermione asked.

"Well as you know he is very concerned with the direction that Hogwarts will be taking. He is quite adamant that he be kept in the loop of all the applicants," Percy said.

"What did he say that he hadn't already said at the meeting an hour ago?" Hermione asked, hoping that it didn't come over snobby. She was rather sick of dealing with Fudge and his cohorts. But after being able to claim responsibility for vanquishing Voldemort once more, Cornelius Fudge had become almost as much of a legend as Dumbledore. Whether it was an earned status was certainly debatable. Although not a debate anyone seemed willing to have in public.

They'd said Harry had gotten her alone and killed her. That didn't sit right with Hermione. Harry wouldn't have done that right then. Everything about it seemed wrong. But he hadn't refuted it.

And because of it, for the last decade, what the minister wanted, the minister often got.

"Well the minister and I stayed rather late discussing the future of your department and the future of magical education in England," Percy continued.

"Thank you for inviting me," Hermione scoffed.

"Given your attire it seemed you had better places to be," Percy said.

"I told you I'd rushed over from a date," Hermione growled.

"Yes, yes," Percy said. "Not very devoted to your work if you ask me," Percy commented.

"It was nine o'clock on a Saturday!" Hermione said.

"It's a wonder you and Ronald didn't work out," Percy continued. "With your constantly wanting to be out and not at home."

"Did you floo me at one in the morning to insult me or is there a purpose to this call?" Hermione asked, her jaw clenched tightly. In her mind, her parents scolded her for grinding her teeth together. But, also in her mind, Harry was cursing Percy down a hallway once more.

"Insult you, Miss Granger?" Percy sounded affronted. "Why I would do no such thing."

"Enough," Hermione sighed. "What's the point of this?"

"Well as I said the minister and I had a great deal of discussion about how to proceed," Percy said.

"We proceed the way the bylaws of Hogwarts say we proceed," Hermione sighed. "A panel of myself, my undersecretary, and two select governors of the school interview all of the candidates and come up with a vote on who we deem best. From that point they have a confirmation hearing before the entire board and the ministry."

"Well yes, yes, we know all of that, obviously. Hopefully it can be done before the start of term," Percy said.

"We have three months," Hermione retorted. "And if it's not, Professor McGonagall said she would perform any interim duties that are required."

"The minister was hoping it wouldn't come to that," Percy said. "There seems to be no real reason to burden her with extra work in her final year."

"Ideally not," Hermione agreed. She had the benefit of knowing that while McGonagall had agreed to that, she'd expressly said she would prefer if it did not come to that. And Hermione had to admit that the transfiguration matron was probably right. She'd become a great deal slower in the last few years.

"And we'd be looking for a candidate with a great deal of administrative experience, as the position is mostly the day-to-day running of the institution. Some background in education is obviously preferred but not overly crucial to the position," Percy said.

"You've already said all of this earlier. And I disagree. I think teaching experience is crucial. While the position doesn't specifically require it, I can't imagine someone being effective if they've never been in a classroom before," Hermione argued.

"Certainly, never in a classroom would be unacceptable. But we think we've come up with a fantastic candidate to take over the school for an extended period of time," Percy said.

"Oh?" Hermione asked, her brows arching.

"Yes," Percy said. "I am going to do it."

"What?" Hermione laughed.

"The minister and I both agree that I would be a perfect candidate," Percy said.

"You?" Hermione laughed.

"That is unnecessarily condescending, Miss Granger. Must I remind you that the year I taught Defense the test scores were record highs."

"You taught defense for four months and had us read out of a textbook in class," Hermione scoffed.

"And, might I remind you, it is only by my reluctance to put forward charges that you and Ronald remained in school after attacking me," Percy said.

"I didn't attack you. But if you want to go that way I've got a couple of very interesting memories from that evening I'm sure the Prophet would love to see," Hermione said. The fireplace remained silent for a moment. She almost thought that Percy decided to leave her. But, deep down, she knew she was never that lucky.

"That does not seem totally necessary," Percy said.

"Then don't threaten me, Percy," Hermione scowled.

"Oh heavens! I would never do such a thing," he said as innocently as he could muster.

"Sure," he said.

"We're merely trying to provide an acceptable solution for all parties involved. Surely you don't want the Prophet inquiring as to whether or not you are old enough to make the decisions that will have consequences for the entire wizarding population of England," Percy said.

"I'm sure we can pencil you in for an interview this upcoming week," Hermione sighed. She had no issue figuring out just what they were trying to do. Fudge had always wanted control over Hogwarts. While Umbridge had blown up spectacularly in his face, the impressive Defense grades from that year had raised some eyebrows.

Annoyingly, they couldn't really contradict it without admitting to secret meetings and training sessions that could, ostensibly, be linked to the students attempting to challenge Fudge on behalf of Dumbledore. In the end, their little group probably helped Fudge maintain power in the ministry, as the results of his one year were certainly laudable on paper.

But Dumbledore had wrested control of the position back the next year. And Fudge seemed content to bask in the defeat of Lord Voldemort and continue solidifying his power.

"Excellent," Percy said. "I look forward to it, Miss Granger. I suspect there will not be a need to interview a great many candidates."

"We'll see," Hermione said quietly, feeling considerably less confident about that than Percy seemed to be.

"Excellent," Percy said. "I'm glad you understand just how important Minister Fudge believes this issue is. I'm sure we will all come up with an acceptable solution going forward."

"I'm sure," Hermione agreed as the fire flashed out of existence. She sighed and paced around the room once more. Hedwig hooted at her, hopped off of her perch and landed on the small cabinet that housed some glasses and her alcohol before hooting once more.

Hermione walked toward her and petted the owl gently. Hedwig just blinked her large eyes and hooted again. Hermione sighed.

"You're right," she said to the bird. She opened the cabinet and pulled out one glass and the closest bottle. She didn't even bother to look at what it was before she poured a mouthful into the glass and then drank it.

The amber liquid burned the whole way down. She made a face against it before pouring another and repeating the process. Five drinks later the thought of Percy Weasley was considerably less annoying to her.

By that point she knew there was no real use to thinking about what she was going to do any longer. Tomorrow she'd have to duck into work and attempt to come up with a solution. Her only real hope was that no one else decided to work on Sunday and that she'd have some quiet.

But she suspected Percy would spend the day contacting everyone he needed to in an attempt to secure his position. She frowned at the thought. When she'd taken the job Dumbledore had smiled his grandfatherly smile at her and said, jokingly, that now they were enemies.

She knew what he'd meant. Dumbledore thought that the government should not have control over the educational systems. And Hermione, in that position, represented the government. But she also agreed with him. She didn't want to be nearly as hands on as Fudge seemed to think she'd would be.

It wasn't her goal to control Hogwarts. It was her goal to protect it. And, deep down, she knew Percy Weasley had no interest in preserving the traditions of Hogwarts. But she also knew it would be next to impossible to convince anyone to go against Fudge's favorite. She couldn't even think of a single person who would even be okay with trying it.

Well, that wasn't true. There was one person who had no issue challenging governments, or anyone, even if for no other reason than they should be challenged. But she couldn't possibly imagine that he would be a good Headmaster. And she didn't even know how to broach the subject to him.

And given that he had a propensity to wait six months to respond to letters, she didn't even really know how to contact him readily enough for it to matter.

But being awake wasn't worth it at the moment. So she stumbled into her bedroom and kicked off her heels before collapsing face first onto her bed, deciding that sleep would help more than worrying at that point. And that she'd have plenty of time to worry in the morning anyway.

The office was empty when she walked in the next morning. None of her staff seemed to feel that the death of the Head of Hogwarts warranted working on a Sunday. Hermione didn't think they were wrong. Fudge and Percy were nowhere to be seen.

She spent the rest of the day running over staff positions in her head. The new head would be responsible for replacing Professors McGonagall and Sprout within the next couple of years. As well as repeatedly filling the ever-vacant Defense position. Along with that would be promoting a new head of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

Flitwick, thankfully, had indicated he wanted to teach for at least another decade. And the diminutive man showed no signs of slowing down as he did. So Charms and Ravenclaw were not things she needed to worry about.

Eventually, around lunchtime, she decided she wasn't gaining anything from being at the ministry and went home. She frowned to herself as she slid into her desk at home, knowing that she should at least continue to try to work despite the change in venue. Her grey cat, Sage, hopped up into her lap and started purring. She scratched it behind the ears before picking up a quill and tapping it against a sheet of parchment.

Her goal had been to write down names of who she would like to fill the position and then assess from their characteristics the qualities that she was looking for in the position. The first name was easy. She wrote 'Albus Dumbledore' down without question. Sure, he wasn't an actual candidate, but whomever took the job would have to strive to live up to his legacy.

After that, though, the list didn't grow. She tapped at it with the quill, the persistent noise annoying her cat until it hopped off of her lap. She kept working through the afternoon and evening with no real luck.

Eventually, before she resorted to more shots, she decided instead to go to bed.

The next week bought the funeral. She was required to give a short speech at Hogwarts during the ceremonies. And after she spent some time catching up with the remaining staff and weighing their concerns for the upcoming regime change.

None of them seemed overly excited. And they seemed even less so at the prospect of ministry officials becoming involved with the operation of the school.

But what bothered Hermione the most was that they all had a defeatist attitude about it. Like it was merely an inevitable thing that they were now having to deal with. Hermione didn't think that was an attitude she wanted in the school. But she was completely incapable of coming up with a better solution.

Eventually, out of desperation, she asked Horace Slughorn if he wanted the position. While the man had seemed genuinely flattered, he turned it down almost immediately. No, he'd said, he was quite content to live out the remainder of his life in quiet retirement in the countryside. But, if she ever needed his advice on anything, he was a mere owl away and always willing to chat over some crystalized pineapple.

Hermione decided that she never wished to have that chat and pushed the thought far, far from her mind.

The next week brought the interviews. They started out, for lack of a better term, utterly awful. By the end of the third day she was actually wondering if the whole thing had been staged purely to make her think Percy would be an acceptable candidate.

His interview seemed to drag and drag when it finally happened. While most took about two to three hours, Percy's was at four when they broke for lunch. And there was no sign of it ending any time soon.

She ate lunch at her desk in her office, mostly just to be away from everyone else for their short break. There was some type of commotion going on at the ministry that morning. But she hadn't really paid that close of attention to the happenings of the day. The hushed gossiping whispers irritated her more than anything. Why people were so concerned with who was seen where and with whom drove her mad.

Percy was looking incredibly smug when they came back from lunch. This time, Fudge joined him in the interview, along with other members of the Hogwarts board of Governors. Hermione expected that they were going to try to skip the confirmation hearing and simply appoint Percy that evening.

One of the other Governors was in the middle of a four-part question to him when she heard what sounded like a scream from upstairs. Given that they were directly below the department of Magical Games and Sports she suspected that there had simply been some quidditch upset.

The hollering above them continued for long enough that they momentarily paused. Fudge sent one of his underlings to investigate and scold the noisy department and they again resumed.

Almost as soon as Fudge tried to resume the interview process, a loud crack rang through the small chamber. Everyone inside winced away from the noise, a few even reached to rub their ears against the new ringing in their head.

Hermione recovered first. She looked around the room quickly and saw a young man standing in the corner, his back to her. Men stood between her and the intruder, blocking her view. She attempted to peer around them.

"Merlin that's irritating," the man cursed. He looked to his wrist, reaching to his watch. He pressed one of the buttons on the side of it and a moment later another loud crack rang through the room. The man hit the button on his watch once more.

"Apparating underground is annoyingly hard," the other new man said. This one looked older and larger than the first.

"I gathered that when I missed on the first attempt," the first man said. Hermione blinked at them.

"What are you doing here?!" Fudge screamed.

"Apparating anywhere except the atrium is strictly forbidden!" Percy yelled.

"Then put up better defenses," the larger man said. The feeling in the room immediately shifted. Hermione couldn't pin exactly what it was. But there seemed to be something almost oppressive coming from the two men. A few of the people blocking her vision stepped backward and away from the two intruders. But their spots were quickly filled by other bodies.

"That man," Fudge shrieked. "He's going to kill me!"

"Tempting," the man said.

"Get him!" Fudge yelled.

"Please try," he said.

"Enough," the smaller man said.

"Sorry sir," the larger one apologized.

"Why are you here?" Percy asked, seeming to sense that there was no immediate danger from these two men. Hermione was focused instead on just how they could have apparated straight into the meeting room.

"I had an appointment for an interview," the smaller man said.

"No you didn't," the larger responded.

"Right," the smaller one said. "I was making an appointment for an interview."

"That is unacceptable and not how these things are done," Percy said snottily.

"Oh, come on, Perce. I'm sure it can't possibly take six hours," the man said. Hermione finally managed to peer around the bodies and get a good look at him. He was taller than most of the men in the room and was dressed far more casually. He wore muggle designer tennis shoes, Hermione recognized the red stripe on the heel, as well as dark jeans and a T-shirt with a logo she didn't recognize on it. An ornate silver watch adorned his left wrist, matching one the larger man wore as well. He had dark messy hair and looked like he'd intentionally forgotten to shave for a day or two.

Silence fell immediately as everyone in the room stared at him. He simply smirked at them all, recognizing the realization that spread across their faces.

"So anyway," Harry Potter said. "Where do we begin?"

"That man is a Death Eater!" Fudge squealed, pointing at Avery. His bodyguards turned toward Avery, stepping toward him.

"Impossible," Harry said.

"He worked for You-Know-Who!" Fudge yelled.

"Couldn't have," Harry said. "You made a grand show of how every Death Eater had been rounded up and imprisoned. And then another grand show of all of the trials. You couldn't have possibly missed one. And if you had, just how many did you miss?"

"One could have slipped through!" Fudge yelled. "He will be executed like the rest!"

"Or Harry Potter will go to the Prophet and talk about how Fudge is using ex post facto Death Eater claims to eliminate potential political rivals," Harry said.

"They would never-" Fudge started.

"Believe Harry Potter?" Avery laughed. Fudge fell silent.

"So anyway," Harry said jovially. "I've got places to be so can we get on with the interview?"

"You do not have an appointment scheduled," Percy sneered. "This is not how the ministry does business."

"Well the afternoon was free. Has it really taken you two hours longer than anyone else? I mean I did always think you were a tad slow, Perce, but that seems excessive," Harry said.

"How dare you," Percy hissed.

"Quick to anger at the slightest taunt," Avery observed.

"Great trait for an educator," Harry said.

"Aurors, escort them out of the ministry," Percy ordered. Fudge nodded and the Aurors stepped toward Harry and Avery. Hermione frowned at the scene, wondering why her estranged best friend would pop in only to be arrested. But then Harry just turned his gaze to the Aurors and smiled. They froze.

"What are you doing?" Fudge asked.

"I can't move!" One of the Aurors yelled.

"Me neither!" The other shrieked.

"Let them go!" Fudge ordered.

"You sure give a lot of orders for a man with no power," Avery said.

"I am the Minister of Magic!" Fudge shouted. "And you will let them go!"

"I'm not holding them," Avery said.

"Mister Potter!" Fudge yelled.

"Gentlemen," Hermione said as sternly as she could muster. "This is quite unproductive. Mister Weasley, thank you for your time but I feel we have all of the information we need. We will contact you if we need anything further."

"I was hoping we could get everything squared away today," Fudge said.

"Well we obviously aren't going to," Hermione countered. "So, Mister Weasley, if you wouldn't mind. You are dismissed."

"I mind a great deal," Percy spat.

"Disobeys ministry requests," Avery noted.

"That's more a positive than a negative," Harry commented.

"True," Avery responded.

"I will not just be dismissed," Percy said.

"Percy," Fudge sighed. "I am sure this will not take very long. There is no way Mister Potter even remotely qualified. I will sit in on this. One more day will not make the slightest difference."

"Are you sure minister?" Percy asked.

"Yes," Fudge said. Percy nodded but stood without another word and left. Harry pulled out the chair across from Hermione and sat down. Avery stood behind him, his eyes occasionally checking the stationary Aurors.

"So," Hermione said quietly. She shuffled through the papers in front of her, organizing the notes she'd taken on Percy and finding new parchment. She hadn't planned for this interview. Her list of questions seemed to be in the wrong spot.

"So," Harry said. Her eyes flashed at him in annoyance. But he was smiling.

"You believe you are suited to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts?" Frederick Goldstein, one of the Governor's asked.

"Well the paper insists I'm Dumbledore's protege," Harry said. "Seems fitting that his protege takes over his post, don't you think?"

"No," Fudge said. "The last thing we need is more interference from Hogwarts. The school is part of the government, not its own entity."

"Perhaps," Harry said.

"Excuse me," Claire Greengrass, the other governor with a vote said as she rifled through some papers of her own. "But where have you even been? Aside from stopping the You-Know-Who at the ministry, the last real record of you is detention reports from when you assaulted and crippled Slytherin students, my daughter included. Magic still hasn't been able to fix Mister Malfoy's spine."

"A dozen Slytherin students and a ministry official entered a class room, cursed my friends and tried to curse me. They were, shall we say, not aware of what they were getting into," Harry said.

"That's the best excuse you can come up with for assaulting and injuring a dozen students?" Claire Greengrass continued.

"Yes. They're lucky I was rather mellow at the time. Or more of them would have been like Draco," Harry said.

"Goodness boy! And you want to run a school filled with children?" Fudge exclaimed.

"Two of them stripped and molested my best friend," Harry said. "Neither of them was reprimanded by their head of house despite three separate healers agreeing that something had happened to her and my own testimonial as to just whom was last seen towering over her. And both of them are currently employed by your ministry making a surprisingly large salary for what, as far as I can tell, is no actual work."

"You can't possibly know that," Fudge scoffed. Avery chuckled to himself and Harry simply smiled more. Hermione flushed a deep red and looked down at her papers. She noticed Claire Greengrass and Frederick Goldstein were both staring at her with curious expressions.

"I would just advise that Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe are kept a safe distance away from me," Harry said.

"A safe distance?" Goldstein said.

"Australia," Avery said.

"The moon," Harry countered.

"Can I ask, Mister Potter," Goldstein started. He paused for a moment as Harry turned to look at him. Hermione thought that, for a moment, he looked almost afraid to ask the questions. "You did not answer her question. Just where have you been?"

"Everywhere," Harry said.

"Can you be more precise?" Goldstein asked.

"I've been everywhere," Harry said. "I've seen the splendor of the world from the highest point of Mount Everest. I've seen the crushing darkness from the bottom of the Marina Trench. I've found the lost cities of the Mayans and learned from their elders. I've supped with the ice tribes of Siberia and I've met the shamans of central Africa."

"That's impossible," Fudge said.

"For you," Avery commented.

"I've seen more of the world, and more of the people in it, than any living soul possibly in the history of this rock," Harry said.

"Ahem," Avery intoned.

"Well, than almost every other living soul," Harry amended.

"Thank you," Avery said.

"We were inquiring more about your specific experience and qualifications. Your response does not answer our question," Claire Greengrass said.

"It doesn't," Harry admitted. "Because it's an impossible question to answer. To delve into the specifics would require far more time than we have available to us in this moment."

"Why do you think you're qualified?" Hermione asked. "As far as we know you have even less experience than Mister Weasley. And he has an appallingly small amount."

"I've spent a large portion of the last five years helping found and run a magical school in Nagasaki. I also taught multiple subjects in my time there. I would also fill in for whatever was needed," Harry said.

"There is no magical institution in Nagasaki," Hermione frowned. So he'd stayed in Nagasaki? She could still remember the oppressive feel of the air when she'd last seen him. It was similar to the slight aura emanating from the two of them now. "In fact. It's virtually impossible to cast any spells there. Surely you're fully aware of that."

"We would prefer if the British Ministry of Magic continued to believe that," Harry said. "But, as with most things, their information in this regard is a bit outdated."

"Do you have references?" Hermione asked.

"Aside from Avery?" Harry asked.

"Naturally," Hermione responded.

"The younger Healer Patel will vouch for the existence of the school and that I taught there," Harry said.

"And you think a few years of running some small school in Japan is enough experience to warrant running the premier institution in all of Europe?" Greengrass asked.

"No," Harry said. "But it's still more experience than the candidate your minister favors."

"Can I ask something more personal?" Hermione asked.

"I may choose to not answer it," Harry said.

"And you are not required to. But you have spent the last decade traveling around the world, seeming to be more of a myth than a real person. Why return to England now and take such a public position?" Hermione asked.

"Well my school is capable of functioning without me now. And I made promises to the locals that it would be a Japanese school. So once it became clear that it didn't need me, I figured it was time to leave. And I felt it was time to return home. At least for the time being," Harry said.

"You don't sound inclined to stay," Goldstein said.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say I wanted this job for all eternity and will spend the rest of my life doing it," Harry said.

"You don't even want it?" Fudge interjected.

"If I didn't want it. I wouldn't be here," Harry said. "It's a unique opportunity and one that I think I would excel at. I have classroom experience. I have school administrative experience. And I am one of the most respected wizards on the planet."

"You have quite the opinion of yourself," Greengrass said.

"An earned one I think," Harry said.

"We all know what Mister Potter has done," Hermione said.

"With respect, Miss Granger. But we don't," Goldstein said. "It's never been clear just what Harry did. It's never been clear exactly what happened in the ministry. And good God, I know you don't have any children but could you imagine sending your children to a castle with him?"

"Yes, people will react quite poorly to those rumors," Fudge said.

"Only if you make a big deal out of them," Harry said. "As is I would suspect the return of Harry Potter is a bigger story. Anyway, if you focus on the rumors I'd just flip them around on you."

"What?" Goldstein asked.

"Well I'd explain a few of them, with sources to corroborate what I said. And I'd let whomever wanted to run with it and say that my general annoyance at the Ministry for choosing to harp on such small things in my past has dissuaded me from returning to England. And suddenly people are more annoyed that you ran off Harry Potter. A Harry Potter who returned home to share the secrets he discovered in his travels. And it's you that's denying them that knowledge out of what…Fear for your own survival?" Harry said.

"That would never work. People trust the ministry," Fudge said. "My administration is highly thought of."

"Because Harry hasn't bothered talking," Avery said.

"Excuse me," Fudge said.

"I was there that night too, you know," Avery said. "As was Ms. Granger."

"I fail to see how that matters. Except given that the only people in the ministry that night were officials and criminals. And you are not a ministry official."

"I always wanted to be a criminal," Harry said.

"Well I mean, technically," Avery started.

"Oh yeah. I forgot," Harry said.

"What are you two on about," Fudge said.

"Nothing important. But if you'd like me to start talking about my last visits to the ministry a decade ago I can certainly start doing that," Harry said.

"I don't think that's necessary," Fudge said, turning rather pale as he spoke.

"Would be fun, though, wouldn't it? Great way to reminisce about old times. We could talk about the Auror you had try to curse me. Oh, or the ones that tried to kill Ron and Hermione," Harry said brightly.

"Excuse me, did I hear that correctly?" one of Fudge's bodyguards said. The man was still fighting against the bodybind. Harry blinked and suddenly both Aurors relaxed into more normal postures. Hermione looked up toward the man. She hadn't really paid any attention to the Aurors that always followed Fudge around. They were both young and seemed to be rather enraptured with Harry.

"Of course not. The boy is delusional," Fudge said. He flushed crimson as he spoke and seemed to almost immediately lose his cool.

"That argument worked better when I was fifteen," Harry said. "And if you call me boy again you will regret it."

"Can we perhaps stop this pissing contest and actually have an interview?" Hermione asked.

"Sure," Harry said.

"I see no reason for this to continue. I am leaving. You should know, Miss Granger, that I will never approve of this appointment," Fudge said. He stood and left the room rather quickly. Hermione watched him go. Both Aurors lingered, their eyes on Harry. But eventually they followed Fudge out of the room.

"So," Hermione said after Fudge left. She gazed between Goldstein and Greengrass wondering if they would manage to accomplish anything in the next few hours.

"If we are doing this seriously," Claire Greengrass said. "What classes have you taught at your school in Japan?"

"I started with Transfiguration. I dabbled in all of them but that was the first one I'd devoted a full year too. After that I focused mostly on the Dark Arts," Harry said.

"You mean Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Greengrass asked.

"No," Harry said. "While that was certainly a component of it. And the only practical portion of it, as it were. Our curriculum explored it from a more theoretical standpoint. We chose to be more transparent with just what the Dark Arts entailed rather than focus entirely on defensive spells."

"And you intend to bring that to Hogwarts?" Goldstein asked.

"I would like to," Harry said. "But I would first need to actually find a professor I trusted with the material that was going to last longer than a year. I think a consistent hand is crucial to proper learning. And then there's the whole fact that the ministry must approve the curriculum. While I think it's a considerably better way to learn about the subject than I had. I acknowledge that there are likely other factors that I haven't considered and that such changes wouldn't be something likely to occur quickly."

"So you'd be willing to get ministry approval?" Greengrass asked.

"It would depend," Harry said.

"On?"

"How willing the ministry is to cooperate as well. It's not a one-way street. If I feel like the ministry is working against me as opposed to with me I would be less willing to cooperate," Harry said.

"You understand that it is our job to be cautious and not to simply approve anything you would wish to do?" Goldstein said.

"Naturally," Harry responded. "But I would expect open discussion and debate and compromise. Not simply telling me no."

"And your administrative experience?" Hermione asked.

"Well I figured out the day to day, organized the budget and was the go to for students or teachers with any problems or suggestions," Harry said. "As well as dealing with the parents too."

"How many students are in your school?" Goldstein asked.

"One Hundred and three," Harry said. "We did a five-year structure and not a seven."

"That's tiny compared to Hogwarts," Greengrass added.

"Yes," Harry said. "But it's new and competing with other magical institutions over there. Although the other ones tended to be very reclusive. We focused on being more inclusive."

"What changes would you be most interested in making?" Goldstein asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I have been away from Hogwarts for a long time. I have, admittedly, not paid that close of attention to what has been going on there. I would need to observe before I could decide on anything further."

"So you are not opposed to the status quo?" Greengrass asked.

"Not entirely," Harry said. "But I think the status quo is going to change regardless," Harry said.

"What makes you say that?" Hermione asked.

"Well, that Professor Slughorn guy just gave the potions job to his apprentice. And if the rumors are to be believe, Sprout and McGonagall both want to retire. So that means three Heads of House are changing. And three new professors will be in core classes. Tell me, was your plan to give Miss Farley Slytherin too?"

"We were going to leave that decision to the new head," Hermione said. "Professor Vector is probably the most likely candidate."

"And the new professors?" Harry asked.

"Also, to be left to the new Headmaster," Hermione said. "Provided the search doesn't take too long. We've vetted a few candidates already with the intention or providing recommendations to the new Head. As well as the full list of candidates if they wish to move in another direction."

"And have Percy and Fudge already decided on their candidates?" Harry asked.

"Not that I've heard," Hermione said.

"Probably," Greengrass said.

"Almost assuredly," Goldstein added.

"I guess it comes down to the lesser of two evils then," Harry said. "You can either let Fudge run your department. Or you can hire someone more interested in education than power and governmental control."

"There are other candidates," Greengrass said.

"No there aren't," Harry said. "Fudge saw to that."

"You've already said you didn't really want it," Goldstein commented.

"I don't know if I want to spend the rest of my life doing it. But I guarantee you I'd work quite diligently at it and give you plenty of notice if I decided it wasn't for me," Harry said.

And the interview continued. It took the better part of an hour and Hermione found that Harry answered her questions exactly how she wanted a perspective head to answer. He was able to talk in detail about each subject, about the day to day of running a school, and about any detail that came up.

By the end of it the governors were hanging off of his every word, laughing at his analogies, and eagerly awaiting more.

"I think that's all we need for now," Hermione said. "Thank you for your time, Mister Potter. How can we contact you going forward?"

"Here," Avery said, taking out a piece of parchment and levitating it over to Hermione. "Just give that address to a bird and it will find one of us."

"And thank you for your consideration," Harry said. He stood and shook hands with Goldstein and then Greengrass. For a moment Hermione thought they both looked a little shocked at the gesture. He shook her hand too before turning to leave. He was gone before Hermione quite realized it. She chased him out of the meeting room and into the hallway.

"Thanks for doing this," Avery said, a few paces away from her. Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"No problem," he said as they stepped into the elevator. "Anyway, you were right. It does feel good to be home."

The elevator closed before Hermione could reach it. But, for the first time since Dumbledore's death, she found she wasn't worried about what was to come.

Harry wasn't surprised when he was told he was the top candidate. He'd known that as soon as Hermione actually got her hands on the detailed information about his school in Japan that she'd pick him immediately. He'd thought it would have taken her longer to convince everyone else, though.

Still it had taken a couple of weeks of argument. And then a formal confirmation hearing that both Fudge and Percy had stormed out of. Harry was still rather amused by that memory. Although he suspected that Fudge was going to do everything in his power to make Hermione's life utterly miserable.

But he wasn't worried about that. No there were more pressing things to worry about. Or at least things that he had to accomplish first. Naturally, though, there was an impediment to that right away.

McGonagall looked quite a lot older than a mere decade. But she was certainly as strict as ever. Which, given that he was now her boss, was a bit irritating.

"Are you even still paying attention, Headmaster?" she snapped with a bit of venom in her voice.

"Yes," Harry lied.

"Good. I do not trust that Avery. I'm do not think he should be allowed near students. And if it's your intention to let him teach Defense," His deputy headmistress said.

"He's way too valuable to subject to the curse," Harry said. McGonagall paused and looked at him.

"I do not remember him being a good student in Transfiguration," she said.

"He's not going to teach," Harry said.

"Well then I don't see his purpose here," she commented.

"That's fine. You don't need to," Harry said. McGonagall glared at him. For a moment, he expected she would comment further, but instead she bit her tongue.

"That was all I had," she said.

"I will take it all under consideration then. Have a good evening," Harry said. He stood and gave her a quick nod before leaving the room to return to his office. The gargoyle moved out of his way as he approached and he walked up the stairs slowly, stifling a yawn as he did.

It wasn't quite late enough to be tired. But he'd had a long day of dealing with far too many people that were convinced he only got the position due to Hermione's favoritism. Thankfully he'd stopped really putting stock into opinions that originated outside of his own head quite some time ago.

It was strange, he thought, entering what was now his office. It was much as Dumbledore had left it. He hadn't yet cleaned it out. The portraits, well the ones that were awake, Dumbledore included, all gazed calmly at him. Quite a few of them looked like they wanted to talk, but none of them spoke. Instead they all shifted their gaze to the woman in the room.

She was short and very pretty with angular features and long black hair. She was a few years older than him, just shy of thirty, and was sorting through the books left on one of the bookshelves, arranging them neatly into piles. Harry watched her work for a moment before walking to the chair at the large desk. He sat and placed his feet on the desk. Once the woman finished with one of the shelves she turned to look at him.

"Rough day?" she asked in Japanese.

"Not really," Harry yawned, responding in the same tongue. "I think I'm still on Nagasaki time."

"I think you just like to sleep too much," she said. She walked over to the desk and stepped behind him.

"Well sleeping is preferable to dealing with people annoyed I got a job," Harry said.

"You do look tense," the woman responded. She reached out and put her hands on his shoulders.

"I am," he said.

"Yes, you are," she responded and started to rub his shoulders.

"Mmm thanks, Fumiko" Harry said.

"No problem," Fumiko said.

"Anything interesting on the shelves?" he asked.

"That you'll be interested in? Aside from the tome I left on the desk, I don't think so," she said. He leaned away from her for a moment to pick up the ancient looking book she'd put next to a familiar battered diary he kept with him. He leaned back into her hands and opened it to a random page.

"Well that's dark," he said reading the notes on the page.

"Incredibly," she said. "You know far more about Dumbledore than I do, but why would he have this in his private collection?"

"Knowing him? Probably to make sure that no one else had it. We could always ask him," Harry said.

"Oh," she frowned. She peered over her shoulders at the portraits behind her for a moment but didn't address them further.

"This is all about magic using your soul," Harry said as he flipped through the pages. "I'll have to read more of it."

"I'm guessing you figured out how to silence the portraits?" she asked.

"Apparently if I don't want them to talk they can't. Handy in a pinch or for keeping secrets I'd guess," Harry said. "Or when I just want quiet after being lectured to for most of the day."

"Am I being annoying?" she asked.

"No," Harry said. "Not at all. Although I can't help but wonder. Where's Avery?"

"Getting dinner," she said. "He should be back soon. I think I'll start a pot of tea."

"You can just have the elves make one," Harry said.

"Those vile creatures? They have no idea how to make a proper cup of tea," Fumiko scoffed.

"Funny, I suspect they say the same thing about you," Harry said.

"Well they can't," Fumiko doubled down as the door to the office opened once more. Avery walked in carrying a couple of boxes. Harry frowned immediately.

"New York? Really? There better not be pineapple on those," he said, switching back to English. He sat up and took his feet off the desk as Avery dropped the boxes onto it.

"Only on one of them. And you were outvoted on that Chicago shit. Hey love," Avery said as Fumiko slipped into his arms and kissed him. Harry frowned at them and opened one of the pizza boxes. He glared at the pineapple and closed the box before opening the second one which was far more to his liking.

"I feel like my vote should count for more given that I'm Harry Potter," Harry said.

"An interesting point. Let's vote on it. I vote no," Avery said.

"I also vote no," Fumiko said.

"Well the motion is rejected," Avery said.

"Damn," Harry said as the other two started in on the pizza as well. Fumiko ate part of a piece before starting on tea for all three of them.

"So, have you given any more thought to the open positions?" Avery asked.

"Only one position is currently open," Harry said. He closed his eyes mid bite and relaxed the restrictions on the portraits, figuring they might actually be able to offer some insight now.

"The Auror option wasn't bad," Avery said. The ministry had offered to use a different Auror every year to teach. And, as much as Harry loathed the ministry, he had to admit it wasn't a horrible idea. At the very least they'd be able to come up with some standardized curriculum and work it out from there.

"Yeah, but I hate the ministry," Harry said.

"Sometimes we have to let go of our feelings," the portrait of Dumbledore said.

"And sometimes we get to be petty and not listen to advice like that," Harry countered.

"I am only trying to help," Dumbledore said.

"You could have, you know, just called her Mrs. Price and then she wouldn't have cursed the position. That would have helped," Harry said. The portrait didn't say anything, but the one of Phineas Nigellus chuckled.

"Still we don't really have a better option," Avery said.

"I could do it," Harry said.

"We've talked about that," Avery responded with a frown.

"Excuse me," Fumiko interjected. "But you said that the position is cursed so that whomever holds it can only do so for a year. And that the curse has been lethal and violent in the past."

"I did," Harry said.

"So why would you do it?" Fumiko frowned. "That seems incredibly reckless."

"Perhaps," Harry said. Fumiko glared at Avery, expressing her annoyance at Harry with a single look.

"Harry has two excuses for wanting to try," Avery said.

"They're not excuses they're legitimate reasoning," Harry countered.

"The first," Avery continued, ignoring the outburst. "Is that he thinks if he does it for a year it will both buy him more time to properly investigate the curse and fill the position. And that the curse should accept that he is merely doing it for a year before stopping to focus on the head position. He's gambling that it will not try to kill him because of that."

"That's hardly a gamble it's been proven in the past. No teacher who planned on doing it for only one year ended up worse for wear," Harry said.

"Moody," Avery countered.

"Never technically taught," Harry said.

"And the second reason?" Fumiko asked, seeming to sense that they would simply argue about the first one for the rest of the night if she didn't steer the conversation into a different direction.

"Harry thinks he's immune to the curse," Avery said.

"What? How?" Fumiko asked.

"That, my love, is a long story," Avery responded.

"And one I'm not going to tell in front of a bunch of eavesdropping portraits," Harry said.

"We know why anyway," Madeline Loraine, the sixth Headmistress of Hogwarts said from her top corner of the portrait wall.

"I'll tell you about it later," Avery said to Fumiko.

"And it is a convincing theory," the twenty-third head, a portly man named Albert Allerian, said.

"I don't think you should do anything if there's a chance it could be that dangerous to you," Fumiko said as she handed him a cup of tea. He took a sip and went back to the pizza.

"And I agree," Avery said.

"Well I'm certainly not letting you take a cursed job," Fumiko scoffed.

"I'm not going to," Avery said. "And Harry should understand that if it is too dangerous for me it's too dangerous for him."

"But it likely isn't dangerous for me at all," Harry sighed.

"But we can't definitively prove that," Avery said.

"Fine," Harry sighed, knowing he'd long lost this argument. "I won't attempt it."

"Good," Fumiko said.

"But that doesn't solve our problem," Harry said.

"It does not," Avery said.

"The Auror option is likely the best solution," Dumbledore said. "I would have seriously considered it had Fudge offered it."

"I am not going to take help from Fudge," Harry said. "I'm not going to do anything that makes it seem like I approve of Fudge in any way, shape or form."

"It can be very difficult to run this institution without the approval of the government," Dilys Derwent commented.

"Exceedingly so," Armando Dippet said. "I had to fight them tooth and nail during the war and it made things very complicated."

"Father always said you were afraid of your own shadow," Avery said.

"How dare you!" Dippet commented.

"Let's not argue with portraits," Harry said. He stood from the desk and took another slice of pizza before pacing around the office. They still hadn't completely cleaned out Dumbledore's things, mostly because he hadn't been able to decide what he wanted to keep and what he wanted to get rid of.

"Fine," Avery sighed with a faux annoyance.

"There's really only one legitimate candidate," Harry said.

"Longbottom?" Avery commented.

"Longbottom," Harry said.

"That reeks of favoritism," Dumbledore said.

"I know," Harry said. "But I also hadn't spoken to him in nearly a decade."

"And he was the only one who interviewed worth a damn. And he has three years of experience as an Auror. And probably wouldn't have been more if not for that incident in Oslo," Harry said.

"Wonder if he's still sour at you about that," Avery said.

"Probably," Harry shrugged. "But he seemed fine in the interview."

"You won't face the curse yourself but you will subject one of your friends to it?" Dumbledore asked.

"Are you seriously going to talk to me about not facing a curse? I'm trying to clean up your mess," Harry said. "Hell if I had more time I could probably break it."

"I highly doubt you capable of that," Dumbledore said.

"What did we just say about not arguing with paintings?" Avery asked. Harry chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head slowly as he continued to pace around the office.

"And it wouldn't really be subjecting him to the curse. Sprout is retiring at the end of next year as well. I'm sure Neville would be more than willing to teach a year of defense and then move into Herbology. And if you can think of a better example of Gryffindor," Harry let his voice trail off.

"You can't just hire your friends," Dumbledore said.

"No, instead I'll just hire former Death Eaters," Harry scoffed.

"Well, I mean," Avery said.

"I don't pay you," Harry countered.

"Valid point," Avery conceded.

"That plan only buys you a year," Phineas said.

"Plenty of time," Harry said.

"To what?" Madeline Loraine asked.

"Figure out how to rid the castle of the curse," Harry said. He traced his hand over the stone wall while he spoke. He could feel the magic still in the castle. He could feel the malicious intent of it. It was almost intoxicating. He let his fingers slide off of the stone.

"And you think you could succeed at that where Dumbledore failed?" Phineas said.

"Yes," Harry said.

"I like him," Phineas said. "He has stones."

"Write to Neville," Harry said. He stepped toward the roost in the corner that Fawkes used to perch on. The bird was gone, there had been no sign of it since Dumbledore died. One feather had fallen to the floor behind it. Harry summoned it to his hand and spun it around his fingers.

"He gets the job?" Avery asked.

"If he wants it," Harry said. "Go ahead and include the bit about Herbology as well. Hell, even if he just wants to apprentice under Sprout for a year to get a feeling for teaching I'd be okay with that. It might not be so foolish to use one of Fudge's Aurors."

"I'll send it in the morning," Avery said.

"You know that he's only offering the Aurors to spy on you," Fumiko said.

"Of course," Harry said. "But I only have six weeks until term starts. So, it is getting annoyingly close to compromise time."

"Surely you must have had someone in mind for the position," Dippet asked.

"Of course. But they're not going to take the job," Harry said.

"Can I ask who?" Dumbledore asked. "I may be able to provide an opinion or help you convince them."

"I doubt it," Harry said. He sat back at the desk and placed the phoenix feather on a battered old diary on the end of his desk before taking a piece of the pineapple pizza. Avery and Fumiko didn't comment as he ate.

"Harry we can't help you if you keep everything to yourself," Dumbledore said.

"I don't recall asking for your help," Harry said.

"Come now, Potter," Phineas said. "No reason to be like that."

"I like you all better when you were quiet," Harry said.

"You can shut them up," Avery commented.

"I know but I may as well get used to it," Harry said. "I'm sure they're only interested in the betterment of the school and they have centuries of experience."

"But you hate being told what to do," Fumiko said.

"I do," Harry said.

"And you hate Dumbledore," Avery said.

"Hate isn't the right word," Harry said as Dumbledore's portrait looked rather affronted by the entire conversation.

"It's closer than anything you'll come up with," Avery said.

"Perhaps," Harry sighed.

"Good lord, boy, how could you hate Dumbledore after all he's done for you," Dippet said.

"Armando," Dumbledore's portrait started.

"Call me boy again," Harry said, this time actually turning to the wall of portraits, "And I'll blast your visage to dust."

"Let's not destroy any magical artwork. Remember, you'll be up there one day," Avery said.

"Only if I sit for a portrait," Harry commented.

"Always the contrarian," Avery responded.

"There's still the matter of the Heads of House," Everard said. Harry turned his gaze to the older head who had, up until this point, been silent.

"Only Slytherin," Harry said. "And Professor Vector has agreed to become the head."

"And the upcoming vacancies?" Everard asked.

"I'll worry more about that next summer," Harry said. "But I'm sure with the general glut of professors available that I'll be able to find someone. I'm sure at least two of them will be interested in the modest bump in pay."

"It is a massive increase in responsibility!" Madeline Lorraine said, sounding rather affronted.

"I'm sure. But that is a horrible selling point. So, I'll stick with the raise angle. I mean hell, have you seen Gemma's clothes and purses? No way she'll be overly thrilled with a Professor's salary. Need to offer something to keep her from like running off with a quidditch star," Harry said.

"Professor Farley was in Slytherin," Dippet said.

"So?" Harry asked. "There's nothing that says they had to be from that house. I'm sure if none of the older professors are interested in it I'll be able to talk Neville and Gemma into Hufflepuff and Gryffindor in some form. If not, I'll just make Avery do it."

"Of course you will," Avery laughed.

"I'm surprised you didn't see that coming," Harry said.

"He thought you'd ask about Slytherin," Fumiko said. Harry turned away from the portraits and frowned.

"Do you want that? I can push Septima off a year," Harry said.

"No," Avery responded. "I'd like to settle into whatever we're doing first before I worry about that. If you want me to do more next year I'm sure I'll be able to do so."

"Ah," Harry said. "Good to know."

"Well I think that should do it for tonight," Harry said. He turned his attention back to the desk and picked up a battered old diary. He examined it for a moment before standing.

"Are you going to need us tomorrow?" Avery asked. He slid an arm around Fumiko as he spoke. She frowned at the diary in Harry's hand but didn't say anything.

"Probably not, why?" Harry asked.

"I wanted to show Fumiko London. And see what my house looks like these days. Touristy stuff, you know. We've been running around a mile a minute since we came back," Avery said.

"Sounds fun," Harry said. "Take the week. I'll be fine here, just cleaning and organizing stuff. If I need you I'll floo."

"Sounds good," Avery said. He and Fumiko turned to leave. She stepped down the spiral staircase but he paused and turned back to Harry.

"What?" Harry asked.

"You're going somewhere," he said. Harry raised his brows.

"What makes you think that?" Harry asked.

"We've been traveling for a decade, Harry. You're not that hard to read," Avery said.

"Neither are you," Harry commented.

"I don't try to be," Avery said. "So where are you going?"

"Nowhere. Go have fun with your wife," Harry said.

"I'm going to regardless. Just, well, just don't do anything too stupidly reckless," Avery said.

"Please, it's me," Harry said.

"Exactly," Avery responded.

"Hawaii?" Harry asked.

"Hawaii," Avery affirmed.

"Well this time I'm sober," Harry said.

"Thank God for that," Avery laughed.

"Have fun in London," Harry said.

"Good luck," Avery said. He stared at Harry for a moment. The young man picked up the phoenix feather and spun it around in his fingers, gazing at it with an unreadable expression. Avery sighed and followed his wife down the staircase.

Dumbledore was dead. The old man hardly believed the news. He never thought the man would die before him. No, especially not with the conditions he'd been forced into. But none of that mattered any longer. Because Albus Dumbledore was dead. And he was not. Once again he'd triumphed.

It was a liberating thought. The old man felt a sense of renewed vigor as it repeated through his head. He pulled himself off of his meager bed and stared out the window of his enchanted tower.

It was a ridiculous thought. Somehow, through it all, he'd been reduced to a Rapunzel. All his power, all his knowledge, all his skill, but just stuck in a tower waiting for someone to rescue him. But that someone had come. At least figuratively.

He flexed his old, weary muscles as he stood. It was difficult work, his body did not react as it should have. Everything was slow, creaked, and seemed on the verge of breaking.

The old man only managed to stay on his feet for a couple of moments before his legs wobbled under the unfamiliar strain. He leaned against the window and stared out at the field where it had all ended. All because of his own stupidity.

Dumbledore shouldn't have been a threat. That much he knew. But he'd been too arrogant to stick with his original plan. No, rather than flee he'd chosen to play with that stupid girl. She hadn't even been pretty enough to have, even without the mud and bile coating her. And he hadn't even managed to drown her. All-in-all, it had been a total waste.

A total waste that had stalled him long enough for Dumbledore to show up. And somehow, a rested Dumbledore had tricked him, bested him. The details were still awash in his head. Decades hadn't made it any clearer. Now, though, he could feel the power returning.

The stupid Austrian had given up immediately after he hadn't reported in. The man hadn't been able to be of use himself, anyway, so it likely wasn't a huge loss. But he'd expected more from his almost ally.

Still, he should have known better than to put any eggs in the muggle basket, as it were.

In the end, all that mattered, was that he'd lost. And he'd wound up trapped in his own citadel with his magic bound. He had never been able to fully discover what exactly his magic had been bound to. But he hadn't been able to cast a spell since that fateful day in nineteen forty-five.

The old man's hand shot out toward the small dresser they allotted him. The top drawer opened as he did. He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching against the effort.

Now, it seemed obvious just what his magic had been bound to. It was coming back to him. Very slowly. But still, it was returning. And it was returning because Albus Dumbledore was dead. He couldn't help but be surprised that his former friend had gone to such lengths to make sure he stayed in his tower.

It had been quite stupid of Albus too. The old man certainly wouldn't have done the same had their roles been reversed. No, he'd have just killed Albus. Problem solved.

He raised his hand and a small vial floated out of the dresser. It took him a couple of moments to get it to float to his hand. It was oddly warm to the touch, like fresh coffee in a glass mug. But he didn't care.

It took his feeble hands three tries to get the stopper out. He dropped it without a second thought and slowly raised the vial to his lips. The liquid was icy on his tongue, but burned hot down his throat. He struggled to swallow it, his body seeming more interested in rejecting any sustenance after so long than accepting it. But he got it all down.

The pain was immediate.

He hadn't expected pain. It knocked him off of his feet immediately. He writhed on the ground, unable to do anything else despite his best efforts. He could hear a commotion before him. The guards, he figured. They must have heard him fumbling around. No doubt they were on their way up to abuse him further.

But if so, why were they screaming so much? Or were those pained screams resonating through his head only his own? He couldn't say. He couldn't know. His mind was feeble, his muscles were useless, his body was on the verge of death.

It certainly was not how he'd imagined it ending. With every fiber of him betraying itself. What a sight it must have been to see him, of all people, rolling around on the ground in the agony of death. At least, he thought, it would be over soon.

And then it was.

He pulled himself to his feet. The new strength in his legs was incredible. He stretched him slowly before lowering himself and rising once more. His legs worked. They really worked. He punched the air in excitement.

The simple gesture made him realize his arms worked as well. He stretched them, too, reaching up and to the side, laughing as they cooperated, and cooperated quickly.

He stepped toward the dresser and peered into the small mirror resting on top of it. Victory stared back at him.

He saw himself, seventy years younger. His icy blue eyes narrowed at the image. His blond hair had returned fully, his body was lean and strong. He stared at his face for a moment, recognizing himself in the glass for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

Gellert Grindelwald, he thought, had returned.

"Break," he said, and the mirror complied, shattering into thousands of pieces. He reached into the open dresser drawer and pulled out the faded letter. It had come with a small parcel, over a decade prior.

He'd never thought Nicholas Flamel stupid. But the rambling incoherence of the dying old man, talking of how he'd give the last two vials of the Elixir of Life to the two young men he'd tried to train all those years ago. Well, it reeked of schmaltz. And now, one of those men was dead. And the other was ready to return.

He opened the dresser and pulled out an old black robe. It was littered with holes and oddly dusty. But it was cleaner and fit him better than any of his current wardrobe. He dressed and then sized it with a wave of his hand. The robe shifted into his old uniform. Black and silver accents, dual lightning bolts on the shoulders. He frowned at the thought. If the world was as he'd heard, then perhaps lightning bolts were not the insignia of choice. He waved his hand once more and removed the trim from the uniform.

Grindelwald moved toward the door keeping him locked in his tower. He placed his hand on it and closed his eyes. There were four separate locking spells on the door. It would have taken him seconds to get through without a wand. But he didn't have a wand. Still, he doubted their magic, especially without Dumbledore's protections.

But those protections were fading quickly underneath his power. It only took six minutes for the door to click open. An alarm rang as soon as he opened the door.

He was greeted by screaming from below as he stepped from the room. Perhaps, he thought, some of his more ardent followers had similar ideas to his own. Two guards met him running up the stairs. Grindelwald eviscerated them with a wave of his hand. He caught one of the wands from the air and continued down the tower.

They were fighting in earnest on the ground floor. What he found shocking; however, was the lack of guards at his tower. He only counted ten, including the two he'd already killed. Worse still, was that they appeared to be only fighting four men.

The remaining guards were nothing he couldn't deal with in moments. He waved the wand around the room and sealed all of their throats. They fell slowly, gagging against the lack of air. Grindelwald ignored them as they fell. The four remaining men knelt before him.

"Stand," he said and they obeyed.

"Sir, when we heard Dumbledore was gone," one started.

"You figured it was a good time to free me," Grindelwald said. "After your previous attempts failed. The last one of which was, I believe, twenty years ago."

"Yes sir," another man stated.

"Well, I would have broken myself out today regardless. But things will be easier with some support," Grindelwald said. "Follow me."

"Yes sir," one man said.

"Where are we going?" another asked.

"We have rights to wrong," Grindelwald said. "From what I've read, we are growing even more stagnant than before. And then we're letting the muggles have their way with the world. It is disgusting."

"Yes sir," one of the soldiers said.

"And in addition to that, one of the articles discussed the most dangerous wizards of all time. And to my chagrin I was merely second. Finishing behind some faux British Lordling," Grindelwald scoffed at the notion.

"A disgusting thought," a soldier said.

"Quite. And now it's time to prove them wrong," Grindelwald said, stepping outside. "To prove them so very wrong."

"Yes sir," one of the soldiers said as Grindelwald took his first free steps outside into the warm summer air. He turned back to look at his tower. He examined it for long enough that the soldiers started to shuffle around.

"Sir?" one asked.

"One last thing," Grindelwald said. He let the magic flow into him and with one quick slash he cleaved the tower clean off of his citadel. The building served no more purpose. So he was going to repurpose it. He blasted the remnants off toward the Muggle town nearby. The same town whose filthy inhabitants had conveniently forgotten that the tower existed.

"There," Grindelwald said. He turned and started to walk away from the citadel and the town. Moments later a loud crashing rang through the air as the ground shook all around them. Miles away a stone tower crushed a Muggle church in the middle of morning service.

"Much better. Now we can begin again," Grindelwald said. Dumbledore was dead. It was finally time for him to live.


End file.
